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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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Class_L-2^Q6. 
Book.^4i 




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THE 

?5T 



MILITAKY HEROES 



REYOLUTION; 



WITH A NAHRATIVE OF THE 



WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 



BY CHARLES J. PETERSON. 




PHILADELPHIA: 
WILLIAM A. LEARY 

No. 158 N. SECOND STREET. 

1848. 



'iZofc 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1546, by 
JAMES L. GIHON, 
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvanin 



JOHN H. GIHON, PRINTER, 

Comer of Siilh md Chwunl Slreefi. 



DAVID W. GIHON, BINDER, 
No. 98 Chesimt Sireet. 



^ 

W 



Y\6 



TO THE 



PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES, 



THIS WORK 



IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 



BY THE AUTHOR, 



^ • 




PEEFACE. 



The following work has long been a favorite scheme of the 
author. When the idea of it first occurred to him, there was 
scarcely any book of a similar character. Some of the biog- 
raphies were composed five or six years ago, and were given 
to the public as fugitive contributions ; others are of a later 
date ; but nearly all were ready for the press a twelve-month 
since. Just as they arrived at this point, however, the an- 
nouncement of a publication somewhat resembling this, in- 
duced the abandonment of the enterprise, with the natural 
reflection, that in America at least, the delay recommended 
by Horace was not always advisable. Subsequently, how- 



O PREFACE. 

ever, the writer was .persuaded to prosecute his undertaking, 
and the result, with but httle alteration, is before the reader ! 

It was the original intention to have given, in one volume, 
a complete gallery of the military heroes of the United States, 
those of the war of 1812, as well as those of the war of Inde- 
pendence, The war with Mexico, however, frustrated this 
design, it being found that the material would swell to two 
volumes. The " Heroes of the War of 1812," and the " He- 
roes of the War writh Mexico," will together complete a se- 
cond volume, which is now passing through the press. 

The design of this work is to furnish brief, analytical por- 
traits of those military leaders who, either from superior abi- 
lity, or superior good fortune, have played the most promi- 
nent parts in the wars of the United States. Each biography 
is made the frame, as it were, for a battle picture, the combat 
chosen being that in which the hero of the memoir principally 
distinguished himself This has always appeared to the author 
the only true way to give a military portrait. What would a 
sketch of Hannibal be, without Cannse ; or one of Bruce with- 
out Bannockburn ? The battle in which a great hero dis- 
tinguishes himself, becomes a part of his biography. His 
fame, and sometimes even his character cannot be understood 
without it. The author has desired, accordingly, to write a 
book which should not only tell wlien Warren was born, 
where Putnam spent his youth, or who were the ancestors ot 
Greene and Wayne, but to enshrine as far as his feeble pen 
has power, the memory of those immortal heroes with Lex- 
ington, Bunker Hill, Eutaw and Stony Point. 

In executing this plan, it became necessary to omit many 



PREFACE. 7 

whose rank wo aid seem to claim admission, and to introduce 
others whose subordinate positions have caused them hereto- 
fore to be overlooked. Thus the author has given sketches ot" 
Colonel Henry Lee, of Captain Kirkwood, of Ethan Allen, and 
of others ; but none of several Major-Generals. He hesitated 
for some time, whether Howard and Pickens ought not to be 
included with Williams and Sumpter ; whether the services 
of Captain Washington in the cavalry, and those of Clarke on 
the western frontier, did not entitle them to a place. He has 
admitted, perhaps, more foreigners than some may think ne- 
cessary ; but it must be recollected that the army was indebted 
for most of its discipline and military science to these men. 
He has also included Hamilton and Burr; but they have 
never heretofore been assigned their due prominence ; and 
moreover their biographies allowed the author to bring the 
history of the nation down to the present century, an import- 
ant addition to the completeness of his work as a whole. 

The author does not pretend to claim exemption from er- 
rors — no annalist can, least of all an annalist of the American 
revolution ! Many of the details of that period are involved 
in inextricable confusion. Whether Mercer suggested the 
march on Princeton ; whether Putnam brought on the battle 
of Bunker Hill ; whether Montgomery harangued his men be- 
fore the second barrier of Quebec ; whether Arnold was pre- 
sent at Stillwater ; whether the legend of Horse-Neck is true ; 
whether the battle of the Assunpink, so unaccountably neglect- 
ed by most writers, was a mere' skirmish or a desperate conflict ; 
whether any of the British, at Brandy wine, crossed the rivei 
lower than Jeffries' Ford ; whether the name of Wood Creek, 



8 PREFACE. 

in 1777, was extended to the arm of the lake between Skeens- 
boro' and Ticonderoga ; whether the surprise at Trenton ori- 
ginated with Washington ; whether Burr intended to dismem- 
ber the Union — these, and other mooted points, perplex the 
historical student, and will, perhaps, always, continue to per- 
plex him. The author has contented himself merely with 
stating his opinions, discussion being foreign to the character 
of this work. Asa general rule, however, he has applied to 
the decision of all such questions, the logical maxim of the 
law, that, where a fact is distinctly stated by a credible eye- 
witness, circumstantial testimony against it is of little value. 

Many anecdotes are used in this narrative wliich have 
never been in print. The one relating to Washington's ad- 
dress at Trenton — " Now or never, this is our last chance" 
— is of this description. It came from the lips of a private 
soldier, who always had told it in the same way, and whose 
veracity was unimpeachable ; he was accustomed to say that 
Washington spoke under evident agitation, and that only him- 
self, and a few others close at hand, heard the words. The 
dramatic character of the address may induce some to discre- 
dit it ; but when the attending circumstances are considered, 
this becomes a proof of its authenticity. Far be it from the 
author to invade history with fiction ! Nothing can be more 
reprehensible than the practice, which has too much prevailed, 
of inventing anecdotes in relation to historical characters and 
passing them oif as realities. Forgers in literature should be 
as infamous as other forgers. But neither can we excuse 
those who studiously banish everything picturesque from their 
pages, as if history grew correct in proportion as it became 



PREFACE. 9 

stupid. Rather should we preserve those stirring anecdotes, 
which illustrate a crisis, and which, to use the metaphor of 
Coleridge, tell a story " by flashes of lightning." 

The narrative of the war is intended not so much for a 
perfect history, as for a short, but as far as possible, compre- 
hensive review of the contest. It forms, it is believed, a pro- 
per introduction for a work intended, like this, for the people. 
The style, in consequence, is different from that which a more 
pretending narrative should exhibit. 

Of the various authorities the author has consulted, he has 
found " Sparks' American Biographies," the most generally 
correct ; and he desires to acknowledge, in this public man- 
ner, the assistance he has derived from that series. He would 
express his obligations in other quarters also, if the list would 
not swell this preface to an unwarrantable length. 





CONTENTS 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

PRELIMINARY CHAPTER, 

BOOK I, - 

BOOK II, - - _ 

BOOK III, - 

BOOK IV, - - - 

BOOK V, . 



19 
25 
45 
73 
113 
141 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

' George WASHiuGToif, . - « 

Joseph Wahhen, . _ - 

"^- IsHAEL Putnam, - _ _ 

Richard Montgomery, 

Lord Stirlino, - . - 

Ethan Allen, _ - « 

William MoaLTRiB, - - - 



173 
207 
219 
235 
243 
259 
261 



U 



12 



CONTENTS. 



HcsH Mehceh, 

Ahthur St. Claih, 

Philip Schuyler, 

JoHX Stark, 

Horatio Gates, 

Benedict Arnolu, 
, James Clinton, 

John Sullivan, 

Henry Knox, 
|-/ Baron Steuben, 

Charles Lee, 

Benjamin Lincoln, 

Anthony Wayne, 
il^^ Count Pulaski, 

Robert Kihkwood, 
-"i. Baron Dk Kalb, 
-^. Marq.ui9 De Lafayette, 

Nathanael Greene, 
/ Otho H. Williams, 

Francis Marion, 

Thomas Sumpter, 

Henry Lee, 

Daniel Morgan, 

Thaddeus Kosciuszko, 

Alexander Hamilton, 

Aaron Burr, 



269 
277 
285 
295 
309 
323 
343 
347 
355 
359 
365 
385 
391 
403 
407 
409 
413 
421 
443 
445 
453 
457 
461 
465 
469 
477 




ILLUSTRATIONS. 



ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL. 

Portrait of Washington, Frontispiece. 

Battle of Germantown, ...----•- Page 83 

Battle of Guilford Court House, - - 1^5 

Battle of Eutaw Springs, ►-- lo9 

AVashington at the Battle of Princeton, .....--- 180 

IJattle of the Assunpink, at Trenton, ...----- 193 

Battle of Bunker Hill and Death of Warren, .__--- 217 

Portrait of Major-General Arthur St. Clair, ._._-- 277 

Saratoga Battle Ground, .__.------ 317 

Portrait of Major-General Benedict Arnold, ------- 323 

Fort Putnam, at West Point, ---------- 339 

Portrait of Baron Steuben, -.-_----- 359 

Battle Ground at Monmouth, .....---- 379 

Pulaski Monument at Savannah, Ga., ..----- 406 

Portrait of the Marquis La Fayette, (at the age of twenty-two years,) - 413 

Portrait of Major-General Otho H. Williams, ..-_.- 443 

Portrait of Brigadier-General Thomas Sumpter, .... - 455 

Portrait of Brigadier-General Daniel Morgan, ... . _ - 4bl 

B 13 



14 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD. 

Residence of General W;iyne Chester Co., Pa., .... - Pa;.'e 5 

Washington's Head-Quarters at Brandywine, - ...... 9 

Washington's Head-Quarters at Valley Forge, - - - - - - 1 1 

Buttle Ground at Stillwater, .--..---- 13 

Ornamental Title Page, " The War of Independence," ----- 17 

Head Piece, 1^ 

Tail Piece, 24 

.\inericans Harassing the British on their Retreat from Concord, - - - 25 

Ornamental Letter — Cap and Sword, ....... 25 

Portrait of Patrick Henry, .....29 

Reception of tlie News of the Repeal of the Stamp Act, ... - - 32 

Fanueil Hall, Boston, ..._.....-- 34 

Destruction of the Tea in Boston Harbor, ..._... 37 

Carpenters' Hall, Philadelphia, .........40 

Battle of Lexington, ....-------43 

The Minute Man of the Revolution, ........ 4.') 

Ornamental Letter — Table and Sword, ....... 4.') 

Colonel Ethan Allen Summoning the Commander of Fort Ticonderoga to Surrender, 47 
Siege of Boston, ...--..--.. 53 

Quebec, .............55 

Portrait of Admiral Sir Peter Parker, .... ....58 

Independence Hall, ....--...--60 

Committee Presenting the Declaration of Independence to Congress, ^ - til 

Portrait of Admiral Lord Howe, - - - fi5 

Retreat of the Americans through New Jersey, ...... 68 

Battle of Trenton, 7U 

Bunker Hill Monument, 72 

Head Piece — Eagle and Flag. .......-.-73 

Ornamental Letter, ._-.....-. 73 

Portrait of Lord Cornwallis, ...._..--- 7t3 

Birmingham Meeting-House, .........80 

Battle of Red Bank, 84 

Portrait of General Burgoyne, ....--...87 

Burgoyne's Encampment on the Banks of the Hudson, - - - - - 91 

Burgoyne's Retreat to Saratoga, ....-..- 95 

Encampment at Valley Forge, ...... ..98 

Signing the Treaty of Alliance at Paris, ....... 101 

Portrait of Sir Henry Clinton, ......... 1U5 

Ruins of Wyoming, ......... . 108 

Tail Piece — Implements of War, ........ 112 

Portrait of Major-General Nathanael Greene, ...... 113 

Ornamental Letter, - - - - - - - - -113 

Savannah in 1778, 118 

Tarleton's Quarters, .-...-.--_. 122 

Battle of the Cowpens, -- .....-.-131 

Capture of the General Monk by the Hyder Ally, ..... ]4l 

Ornamental Letter, - .......... 141 

Portrait of Commodore John Paul Jones, ....... 143 

Capture of Major Andre, ........ .- 148 

Continental Money, - - - - - - - - - -152 

Portrait of Robert Morris, -.--..-- -- 154 



ILLUSTRATIONS. ID 

Action off Cape Henry, - - Page 156 

Y'orktown, in 1782, . - - - 161 

Capture of Cornwal lis, - ]b4 

Tail Piece— Cannon and Flag, 170 

Ornamental Tide Page — " Heroes of the Revolution," ----- 171 

Mount Vernon, .------ ----173 

Ornamental Letter — Washington, .-------- 173 

Washington's Interview with the Commander of the French Fort, - - - 176 

Washington's Head-Qnarters at Cambridge, - - - - - - - 181 

Copy of a Gold Medal Presented to "Washington by Cou^Tess, - - - 185 

Washington Crossing the Delaware, ....---- 18S 

Washington's Head-Quarters at Morristown, - - - - - -197 

Washington's Head-Quarters at Newburg, ------- 202 

Tomb of "Washington at Mount Vernon, - - 2U6 

Portrait of Major-General Joseph Warren, . - - - . . . 207 

Ornamental Letter — Throwing up Intrenchinents, ------ 207 

Tail Piece — Cap and Sword, - - - - - - - -- 218 

Portrait of Major-General Israel Putnam, - - • 219 

Ornamental Letter — Putnam Prepared for the Torture, - - - - 219 

Ruins of Old Fort Ticonderoga, - - - - - - - - - 221 

Battle of Bunker Hill, - - - - 227 

Portrait of M;ijor-General Richard Montgomery, ------ 2.S5 

Ornamental Letter, .--. ...-- 235 

St. Johns, on the Sorel, ..-------. 2.37 

Death of Montgomery at the Storming of Quebec, . - - . - 242 
Head Piece — Sword, - - - - - - - - - - -243 

Ornamental Letter — Officer taking Observations, ...... 243 

Portrait of Major-General William Moultrie, .----.- 251 

Ornamental Letter, .....------ 251 

Portrait of Major-General Lord Stirling, ...----- 259 

Ornamental Letter — Sentinel, .......-_ ^'59 

The Retreat of the Americans at Long Island, ...--- v66 

Tail Piece, '■^'58 

Battle of Princeton, 2fi9 

Ornamental Letter, ...-.----- 2G9 

Tomb of General Mercer, at Laurel Hill Cemetery, near Philadelphia, - - 276 

Death of General Wolfe, 277 

Ornamental Letter, ......-..-- 277 

Wolfe's Army Ascending the Heights of Abraham, ----- 284 

Portrait of Major-General Philip Schuyler, ------- 285 

Ornamental Letter — Sentinel, _----- ..- 28,) 

Massacre at Fort Henry in 1757, - 290 

Portrait of Major-General John Stark, -------- 295 

Ornamental Letter — Sentinel, ._.--.-- 295 

General Abercrombie's Army Crossing Lake George, ----- 299 

Portrait of John Langdon, - - - - - - - - - -301 

Battle of Bennington, -- - 304 

Tail Piece — Sword, -....------ 308 

Portrait of Major-General Horatio Gates, ------- 309 

Ornainental Letter — Eagle and Flag, - - ----- 309 

Surrender of Burgoyne, -.--.--- --316 

Medal Presented by Congress to General Gates, - -" - - - - 318 

Shippen's House, Philadelphia, in which Gtneial Arnold was Married, - - 323 

Ornamental Letter, ..-_---- -- 323 



16 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Montreal — Place d'Arms, Page 328 

Washington's Head- Quarters at Tappan, 340 

General James Clintons Escape from Fort Clinton, .----- 343 

Ornamental Letter — Tomahawk, .-.------ 3-13 

Portrait of Major-General John Sidlivan, and Ornamental Letter, - - - 347 

Portrait of Major-General Henry Knox, and Ornamental Letter, - - - 355 

Tail Piece — Artillery, ..--.------ 358 

Head Piece — Prussian Soldiers, --------- 359 

Ornamental Letter, ...-------- 359 

Baron Steuben Drilling the American Army, ------- 361 

Tail Piece, - - - 304 

Portrait of Major-General Charles Lee, ... .... 365 

Ornamental Letter, ...-------- 365 

Tail Piece, 384 

Portrait of Major-General Benjamin Lincoln, -....-- 385 

Ornamental Letter, .... ..... 385 

Portrait of Major-General Anthony Wayne, -391 

Ornamental Letter, ...-- 391 

Storming of Stony Point, .---------- 396 

General Wayne Attempting to Quell the Mutiny of the Troops, - • - 398 

General Wayne's Defeat of the Indians on the Miami, ..... 400 

Tail Piece, 402 

Head Piece — Pulaski and Polish Soldiers, ....... 403 

Ornamental Letter, ....-..---- 403 

Death of Count Pulaski, 406 

Portrait of Major-General the Baron de Kalb, - - 407 

Ornamental Letter, .......---- 407 

The Battle of Camden, and Death of the Baron de Kalb, - - - - 410 

Head Piece, and Ornamental Letter, - - - - - - - 411 

Yorktown Battle-Ground, and Ornamental Letter, - - - - - - 413 

Moore's House, Yorktown, in which Cornwallis Signed the Articles of Capitulation, 417 

Tomb of General La Fayette, 420 

General Greene's Entrance into Charleston, - - - - - - - 421 

Ornamental Letter — The Dead Soldier, - - - - - - - -421 

The Landlady Offering her Money to General Greene, ... - - 431 

Portrait of Brigadier-General Francis Marion. ------- 445 

Ornamental Letter — General Marion Inviting the British Otlcer to Dinner, - 44.S 

Sumpters Assault on the British at Rocky Mount. ...-.- 455 

Ornamental Letter, ......-- ... 455 

Portrait of Colonel Henry Lee, ......... 457 

Ornamental Letter — Lee's Legion, ....-..- 457 

Tail Piece, 4G0 

Morgan at the Battle of Stillwater, _..----- 461 

Ornainental Letter, -- .-.- 461 

Portrait of Brigadier-General Thaddeus Koskiuszko, _ - - . - 465 

Ornamental Letter, 465 

Monument to the Memory of Koskiuszko at West Point, .... 468 

Portrait of General Alexander Hamilton, ...-..- 409 

Ornamental Letter, ...... .... 469 

Tail Piece, - 47r 

Portrait of Colonel Aaron Burr, .......-- 477 

Ornamental Letter, - - 477 

Tail Piece, 487 




'"^'iV^-i^V 




PRELIMINARY CHAPTER. 



I HE American Revolution, in whatever aspect 
, viewed, forms an epoch in history. That a com- 
paratively weak confederacy should undertake a 
war unassisted, against a power which had just humbled the proud- 
est throne in Europe, appears at first sight little short of madness. 
Never, perhaps, did England enjoy a more formidable position than 
at the beginning of the dispute with her colonies. Her armies had 
been victorious in the old world and the new. Her fleets had 
chased those of every adversary from the ocean. She had dictated 
peace to her antagonist. And while these events had been transact- 
ing in Europe and America, a commercial company had been con- 
quering for her the vast empire of the Indies. Her flag already 
floating over Quebec, Gibraltar and Calcutta ; her name heard with 
terror by distant and savage tribes ; men began to look forward to 
the day when the British empire, like the sea which she controlled, 
should circle the habitable globe. 

It was at this, the very height of her career, that the American 
Revolution occurred. The colonies contained, at that time, but 
three millions of people, divided by local prejudices, by difterences 

19 



/ 



20 HISTORY OF 

of religious opinion, and by mutual jealousies. In one sentiment 
only they agreed, a determination to resist oppression. Without 
arms, money or credit, they embarked in a contest from which 
France had just retired in despair. At a very early period of the 
war, the Americans were so completely overpowered that any other 
people would have abandoned the contest in despair. The battle 
of Trenton alone saved the country. The genius and resolution of 
Washington, in that eventful crisis, interposed to arrest the torrent 
of disaster ; he checked the flood and rolled it back on the foe. For 
eight years the conflict was protracted amid financial and military 
ditflculties almost incredible. At times the Americans were reduced 
to such straits that it was a greater triumph of military chieftainship, 
merely to keep an army together, than it would have been, under 
ordinary circumstances, to have achieved a decisive victory. Battle 
after battle was lost, city upon city fell into the hands of the foe, 
domestic treason conspired with foreign hirelings against the liberties 
of the land ; but the colonies, true to the principles of their immortal 
declaration, resolved to perish rather than submit. They acted in 
the spirit of the patriot who swore to demolish every house and 
burn every blade of grass before the invader. The Senate of Rome, 
when Hannibal was at the city gates, solemnly sold at auction the 
land on which he was encamped, the august members of that body 
competing, in their private capacities, who should pay the highest 
price : so indomitable was the sentiment of ancient freedom. Wash- 
ington, not less determined, when asked what he would do if the 
enemy drove him from Pennsylvania, replied, " I will retire to 
Augusta county, among the mountains of Virginia, or if necessary 
beyond the Alleghanies, but never yield." When such heroic reso- 
lutions are entertained, victory, sooner or later, must ensue ; and 
thus America, insignificant as she seemed, was able to humble the 
mistress of the world. 

But if we would correctly appreciate the American Revolution, 
we must look, not to the event itself, but to its consequences. The 
war of Independence was the first ever gained in behalf of the 
people, using that word as contradistinguished from a privileged 
class. Magna Charta was obtained for the benefit of a few nobles, 
while the majority of the population continued slaves to the soil. 
The boasted revolution of 1 688, was but a struggle between a despot 
and an oligarchy : the commonalty gaining as little by the elevation 
of William the Third, as they lost by the exile of James the Second. 
It was only the nobility, the gentry, the church, and the higher 
classes of merchants to whom it was of advantage. The govern- 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 21 

ment passed from an irresponsible monarch to a landed and monied 
aristocracy : the people obtaining no share in it, and remaining still 
subjects and not citizens. But the American Revolution established 
the great principle of political equality. It elevated the poorest 
member of the commonwealth to an equal participation with the 
richest in the choice of his rulers ; and by teaching that the State 
must rely on the virtue of its citizens, and not on a miUtary force 
for support, invoked some of the most powerful sentiments of human 
nature in behalf of the permanency of the republic. 

The example thus set, has influenced the whole European conti- 
nent. The knowledge of the freedom of institutions in America, 
awakening the lethargic mind of the old world, has led to a general 
amelioration in the social and political condition of its millions of 
inhabitants. To the American Revolution may be traced, in a great 
measure, the revolution in France, — an incalculable blessing to man- 
kind, notwithstanding its excesses ; for if that terrific outbreak had 
not occurred, the chains of feudalism would probably remain im- 
broken ; long established customs would still hold the minds of men 
in thrall ; and Europe, instead of being in motion towards constitu- 
tional liberty, would lie inert and stupified, careless or ignorant of 
her inestimable rights. 

The hand of Providence may be discerned in the settlement, inde- 
pendence, and subsequent prosperity of the United States. The 
race of men who came to these shores was of that northern blood 
which has, in all ages, asserted its superiority over every other with 
which it has come in contact. Perhaps there never existed its equal 
in the capacity for material development. The very name of North- 
man suggests the idea of enterprise and progress. In anew country 
the genius of the race had free room for expansion, without being 
checked by old institutions as it was every where in Europe. A bold 
and hardy people was the consequence, possessing high notions of 
personal independence, and accustomed from the very first to choose 
their own rulers and make their own laws. Had a less energetic 
stock colonized these shores, the destiny of the western world would 
have been far different. No other people but one formed and 
nurtured as the early settlers were, could have achieved the inde- 
pendence of this country. Fortunately the materials for the state 
were of the best possible kind, nor was any parent community at 
hand to wither the young commonwealth by its protecting shadow ; 
but the colonies were suffered to grow into power, and to know 
their own strength, before the mother country interfered to harass 
them ; and by that time they were able to conquer their indepeu- 



22 HISTOKY OK 

dence, and to maintain it afterwards. If instead of being three 
thousand miles away, the yomig republic had started upon European 
soil, it never would have been allowed to try the experiment of self- 
government unmolested ; but foreign powers, alarmed at the effect 
its example might produce, would early have interfered and crushed 
its development. In that case our liberties could only have been 
achieved by the blood and horror of a second P'rench Revolution ; 
and after we had filled Europe with the glare of conflagration, we 
might at last have proved unworthy of freedom. 

It is evident to the eye of the philosopher that the old world is 
worn out. There are cycles in empires, as well as in dynasties ; 
and Europe, after nearly two thousand years, seems to have fin- 
ished another term of civilization. The most polished nation in the 
eastern hemisphere is now where the Roman Empire was just 
before it verged to a decline : the same system of government, the 
same extremes of wealth and poverty, the same delusive prosperity 
characterizing both. Europe stands on the crust of a decayed vol- 
cano which at any time may fall in. The social fabric, in the old 
world, is in its dotage. The whole tendency of the philosophic mind 
abroad, is towards change ; but whence to seek relief, or in what 
manner to invoke it ? It is not too visionary to believe that from 
the new world will come the recuperative energy which is to restore 
the old, and that America is hereafter to return to Europe, in an 
improved condition, the civilization she borrowed in her youth. 
The one starts where the other leaves off". The United States begins 
with an experience of two thousand years. At the same ratio of 
progress with which it has advanced during the last century, it will 
attain, by the close of the next, a social and political elevation, at 
present incredible. Its population, exceeding that of any Empire 
but China, will all speak the same language, possess the same laws, 
and boast the same blood ; and history will be searched in vain for 
an example of such numbers collected into so compact a territory, 
or possessing equal intelligence and enterprize. It is then that 
emissaries will go hence to re-model the old world. And the time 
may even come, as a celebrated English writer has remarked, when 
Europe will be chiefly known and remembered from her connexions 
with Amerif^a : when travellers will visit England, as men now visit 
Italy, because once the seat of art ; and when antiquaries from cities 
beyond the Rocky Mountains, will wander among the ruins of Lon- 
don, almost incredulous that there had once been centred the com- 
merce of the world. 

With the Roman Empire the seeds of disunion existed in the 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCK, 23 

variety of races acknowledging her sway, and in the fact that most 
of the provinces had originally been conquered nations and were 
never completely assimilated to her, or to each other. When the 
irruptions of the Goths occurred, this unwieldy and ill-cemented 
mass naturally fell to pieces. Even during the existence of the em- 
pire the government of the distant colonies was more or less imper- 
fect, as is indeed always the case with the provinces of an 
extensive monarchy or despotism. The body thrives wliile the 
extremities wither. But in the republic of the United States, 
these difficulties are obviated by the federal compact, which 
bestows on the general govermnent only such power as the states 
cannot conveniently use themselves, leaving to each common- 
wealth the right of local legislation. The nation is governed 
on the wise principle of representing the wishes of the people as a 
whole ; while each individual state is left to adjust its ov/n aftairs 
in tlie manner best suited to itself. For the purposes of a free peo- 
ple occupying an extended territory the federal league is the most 
wonderful discovery in the whole range of political science. It 
combines the separate independence of the. municipal system of 
Rome, with the compactness of a consolidated monarchy such as 
that of France. Like the magic tent in the fairy tale, it may shelter 
a family, or cover a continent. It moreover carries within itself the 
seeds of recuperation, and may be peaceably amended to suit the 
altered condition of the times. It is the only form of government 
for an extensive republic that can be relied on as permanent. A 
cursory observer would suppose, that on the slightest difference of 
opinion among the States, they would separate into as many hostile 
and independent nations : but experience has shown, as philosophy 
prognosticated, that the federal league weathers tempests that wreck 
even constitutional monarchies. It is the most pliable of all the 
forms of human government. Like those vast Druidical stones that 
are still the admiration of the world, though their builders are for- 
gotton, it is so nicely poised that while rocking under the finger of 
a child, it yet defies human power to hurl it to the ground. 

The story of the Revolution, pregnant with such mighty con- 
sequences, and the lives and characters of the great men who 
began and successfully completed it against such overwhelm- 
ing odds, cannot fail to be interesting, especially to the descend- 
ants of those who shed their blood in that quarrel. It is our 
purpose to narrate this theme : and we shall do it without further 
preface. 




AMERICANS HARASSING TUE BKIXISH 0.\ THEIR RETREAT FROM CONCORD. 



BOOK I. 



THE ORIGIN OF THE WAR. 




rillT HE American Revolution natu- 
=^" lally divides itself into five peri- 
ods. The first dates from the 
~:^ passage of the Stamp Act to the 
^^^ battle of Lexington. This was 
a period of popular excitement, 
1 1 1 mcreasing in an accelerated ratio, 
until it burst forth with almost 
irresistable fury at Lexington and 
Bunker Hill. The second reaches to the battle of Trenton. During 
this period the popular enthusiasm died aAvay, and recruits were 
difficult to be obtained for the army : consequently the American 
forces were made up chiefly of ill-disciplined militia, wholly incapa- 
ble of opposing the splendid troops of England. As a result of this, 
the battle of Long Island was lost, and Washington was driven 
across the Delaware. In this emergency, even the most sanguine 
of the patriots were beginning to despair, when the commander in 
chief made his memorable attack at Trenton, and rescued the 
country from the brink of ruin. The third period brings us up to 
the important alliance with France. It was during this period that 
4 c 25 



26 HISTORY OP 

a regular army, having some pretentions to discipline, was first 
formed ; that the battles of Brandywine, Germantown and Mon- 
mouth were fought ; and that Burgoyne surrendered. It was a 
period when, notwithstanding the fortunes of the country occasion- 
ally ebbed, the cause of Independence on the whole steadily advanced. 
The fourth period embraces the war at the south. During this 
period the military operations of the British at the north were com- 
paratively neglected ; indeed England now began to regard the con- 
quest of the whole country as impossible, and therefore resolved to 
concentrate all her energies on one part, in hopes to subdue it at 
least. The fifth and last period, which had nearly proved fatal, 
after all, to Independence, comprises the capture of Cornwallis ; 
witnesses the deliverance of the nation from a financial crisis ; and 
finally beholds Independence acknowledged, and the enemy's troops 
withdrawn from our shores. To each of these periods we shall 
devote a book : the first we shall now portray. 

There can be no question but that the colonies would eventually 
have detached themselves from the mother country, even if the 
severance had not occurred at the period of which we write. While 
the provinces were young and feeble, they naturally looked to the 
parent state for countenance ; but Avhen they grew to manliood, the 
sentiment of Independence and the consciousness of importance 
sprang up together in their bosoms. In everything the colonies 
found themselves pinched and controlled by the supremacy of 
England. They were not allowed to trade where or when they 
pleased : they were compelled to pay a certain portion of the 
product of their mines to the king : and in many other ways they 
were made continually to feel that their existence was permitted, 
not so much for their own benefit, as for that of the parent state. 
Originally seeking a refuge in the new world because of religious 
and political tyranny at home, their independent spirit had increased, 
rather than diminished : and this naturally, in consequence of the 
agricultural life they led, and the democratic character of their 
colonial governments. There were, long before the Revolution, a 
few observing intellects who prognosticated, in consequence of these 
things, an ultimate disruption between America and England. The 
Swedish traveller, Kolm, twenty years before the contest, has re- 
corded the prophecies of such minds. But the great body of the 
people, not yet pressed on directly by the aggressions of the mother 
country, were insensible of wrong. 

A wise government wauld have temporized with the colonies 
and endeavored to avert as long as possible the breach which it 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. ' 27 

saw to be inevitable ; but England, at the period of the Revolution, 
was ruled by a ministry which either could not or would not under- 
stand America. In an evil hour for Great Britain it was resolved 
to draw a revenue from the colonies by direct taxation. In vain 
Burke lifted his warning voice. "The fierce spirit of liberty," he 
said, " is stronger in the English colonies probably than with any other 
people of the earth," In vain a few discerning minds in England 
pointed to the examples of Pitt and Walpole, former prime-ministers, 
both of whom had refused to tax America. Said the latter shrewdly, 
" I will leave that measure to some one of my successors who has 
more courage than I have." The Grenville ministry, brave with 
the audacity of ignorant folly, resolved to undertake what others 
had shrunk from, and draw a revenue from America, not only 
incidentally as of old, but directly by a certain fixed tax. 

As a preliminary measure, however, two acts were passed, having 
reference to the trade and finances of the provinces. The first of 
these imposed heavy duties on indigo, coffee, silk, and many other 
articles, imported into the colonies from the West Indies, besides 
requiring the customs to be paid in gold or silver: by this act a 
very lucrative branch of commerce was at once destroyed. The 
second declared the paper money, which had been issued by the 
provinces to defray the expences of the war just closed, not a legal 
tender in the payment of debts. Each of these laws was equally 
irritating. But had the ministry stopped here, no immediate 
opposition would have been aroused ; for the colonies had been too 
long accustomed to old commercial restrictions to take offence at 
new ones. But these measures proving insufficient to raise the 
revenue which the ministers desired to reap from America — a direct 
tax was resolved upon, and the Stamp Act accordhigly brought 
forward. 

It has often been a subject of surprise that Great Britain should 
ever have entertained the idea of taxing America without her 
consent, or should have persisted in it after discovering her oppo- 
sition. But, when we consider the attending circumstances, all 
astonishment ceases. England had just come out of an expensive 
war, which though in reality produced by her own aggressions on 
this continent, she persuaded herself was undertaken for the defence 
of her colonies ; and therefore it seemed but natural that the pro- 
vinces should be made to pay a part of the cost. This was un- 
questionably the first view taken of the subject by the majority of 
the middle class of Englishmen. As the dispute advanced, this 
selfish desire to lighten their own burdens, received a new ally in 



28 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. 

the national obstinacy which would not brook opposition. Up to a 
comparatively late period of the war, these causes, combined with a 
feeling of contempt for America, as a province, produced a very 
extraordinary unity of sentiment among the country gentlemen in 
parliament, and the middle classes out of it, in favor of England 
persisting in her claim. 

In further confirmation of this view, is the fact that, from the 
hour when the dispute first began, up to the breaking out of the 
Revolution, the parliament, whether in the hands of a tory or whig 
ministry, never abandoned the assertion of its right to tax America. 
In 1766, when the Rockingham administration desired to repeal the 
Stamp Act, it was found necessary to preface it by a declaratory 
act, asserting the right of the mother country to bind the colonies in 
all cases whatever. In 1770, when Lord North brought in his 
bill to remove the obnoxious duties, he retained the duty on tea, 
expressly to reserve the right of parliamentary taxation. It is a 
lamentable truth, yet one to which the historian must not shut his eyes, 
that with the exception of a portion of the whigs, of the merchants 
engaged in the American trade, and of a few comprehensive mhids 
like those of Burke and Chatham, the great body even of intelligent 
Englishmen, regarded the provinces as factious colonies, and 
sustained, if they did not urge on the government in its domineering 
course. Moreover, the King, from first to last, was the uncompro- 
mising foe of conciliation. When these facts are understood, the 
riddle becomes plain. The coldness with wliich parliament and the 
people received the various appeals of the American Congress, prior 
to the war, is no longer a mystery ; the headlong obstinacy of the 
mother country ceases to astonish, for men are never so guilty of 
follies as when angry : and the inefliciency of subsequent conces- 
sions, which the Americans have been blamed for not receiving in 
a more generous spirit, becomes apparent, since never, during the 
whole progress of those conciliatory movements, did England aban- 
don the disputed claim. While the irritating cause is left in the 
wound, palliatives are but a mockery. 

The Stamp Act became a law on the 22d of March, 1765. Its 
direct effect was only the imposition of stamp duties on certain 
papers and documents used in the colonies. As it however em- 
bodied a great principle, of which itself was but the entering wedge, 
the provinces took the alarm the more readily, perhaps, inconsequence 
of the prevailing irritation in reference to the navigation laws, and 
the rigor with which they had begun to be enforced. At first, 
liowever, there was no public expression of discontent. The country 



THE STAMP ACT. 



29 




PATRICK HENBY. 



seemed to stand at gaze, struck dumb with astonishment. Patrick 
Henry, in the Virginia Assembly, led the way in giving voice to 
the popular feeling. He introduced into, and passed through that 
body a series of resolutions declaratory of the right of Virginia to 
be exempt from taxation, except by a vote of the provincial legis- 
lature, with the assent of his majesty or substitute : a right which 
the citizens of Virginia, the resolutions further asserted, inherited 
from their English ancestors, and had frequently had guaranteed to 
them by the King and people of Great Britain : a right, to attempt 
the destruction of which, would be subversive of the constitution, 
and of British and American freedom. It was, while advocating 
these resolutions, that the memorable scene occurred which Wirt 
graphically portrays. The orator was in the full torrent of decla- 
mation against the tyrannical act, when he exclaimed, " Csesar had 
his Brutus, Charles the First his Cromwell, and George the Third" — 
But here he was interrupted by loud cries of "treason, treason," 
resounding through the house. Henry paused, drew himself up to 
his loftiest height, and fixing his undaunted eye on the speaker, 



30 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

elevated his voice while he finished the sentence, "and George the 
Third may profit by their example. If this be treason, make the 
most of it." The boldness of the man, and of his words, were 
electric ; not only on the Assembly, but on the people at large. The 
retort hit the popular nerve, and thrilling through the nation, 
quickened the pulse and fired the heart of patriotism. It was like 
the spark of fire to the dry prairie : mstantaneously the whole 
country was in a blaze. 

Massachusetts was the next colony to give an impetus to the 
career of Revolution. The other provincial Assemblies had passed 
acts similar to that of Virginia ; but shrewd men saw that it required 
something more to produce a permanent eftect. As early as 1754, 
the plan of a general league, to carry on the ordinary government 
of the colonies, had been rejected by the ministry, after having been 
adopted by the provinces. A similar league suggested itself now as 
of use in this emergency. Simultaneously, the idea of a Congress 
of the colonies struck difterent minds in opposite sections of America. 
It was reserved for Massachusetts, however, to give this sentiment 
a voice. On the 6th of June, 1765, her legislature resolved it was 
expedient that a general Congress of deputies from all the provinces 
should meet at New York on the first Tuesday of October, to consult 
on their grievances. 

In the meantime the first riot of the Revolution occurred, and at 
Boston, from that time forth the head-quarters of turbulence and 
disaffection. Distributors of stamps had already been appointed for 
the several colonies, though the Stamp Act was not to go in opera- 
tion until the 1st of November. On the morning of the 14th of 
August, an effigy of Andrew Oliver, the distributor of stamps for 
Massachusetts, was discovered hanging from a tree on the town 
common, since known as the " liberty tree." At night a large mob 
assembled, which burned the effigy, and afterwards attacked the 
stamp office and residence of Oliver. The next day this obnoxious 
individual resigned. The popular leaders now strove to check 
further violence : but the mob was not satisfied until it had com- 
mitted other disgraceful outrages. Before the excitement subsided, 
the papers of the court of admiralty had been destroyed, the dwell- 
ings of the collectors of customs had been razed to the ground, and 
the beautiful garden, the richly furnished mansion, and the valuable 
library of state papers belonging to the lieutenant governor, Hutch- 
inson, had been sacrificed to the popular phrensy. In the other 
colonies the distributors of stamps averted a similar tumult by 
resigning. 



, THE STAMP ACT. 3] 

In October, 1765, the Congress assembled pursuant to recom- 
mendation. Deputies from nine colonies were in attendance. The 
attitude of the assembly was firm but conciliatory. A petition to 
the King, and a memorial to parliament, were prepared and signed 
by all the members present. In these documents the afiection of 
the provinces to the person of the King as well as to his government 
was enlarged on ; but at the same time the determination of the 
colonies to preserve their liberty was explicitly expressed. It was 
declared that the constitution guaranteed to British subjects im- 
munity from taxation, unless by their OAvn representatives ; while it 
was argued that the remote situation of the colonies practically 
forbade this representation, unless in their own provincial assem- 
blies. In conclusion a prayer was made for the redress of their 
wrongs. This petition and memorial had no effect, for the reasons 
we have before explained. The only benefit of the Congress was the 
bringing together leading men frpm the different colonies, by which 
a certain sort of unity of purpose was obtained, and a way opened 
for future assemblies of the kuid. In the end, it led to a closer 
acquaintance between the provinces, gradually removing the local 
prejudices that had formerly prevailed; and this, ultimately, to that 
feeling of a common interest almost amounting to nationality, with- 
out which the war of Independence would have failed in its first 
year. Thus, from comparatively small beginnings, does Providence 
work out his great designs. 

The 1st of November, the day on which the Stamp Act was to 
go into effect, at last arrived. The colonists had meantime resolved 
not to wear English goods until the illegal law was repealed. On 
this occasion, therefore, the citizens were all in homespun, rich and 
poor alike. At Boston the bells were tolled and the shops closed. 
At Portsmouth, N. H., a coffin inscribed " Liberty, setat cxlv years," 
was borne in funeral procession, interred to the sound of minute 
guns, and an oration pronounced over its grave. Everywhere the 
people acted as if some great calamity had happened : men spoke 
of freedom as if she had forever departed from their midst. Mean- 
time the Stamp Act became practically nugatory. The citizens 
refused to use the stamped paper. The regularly appointed officers 
declined the obnoxious duty. The attorneys determined to employ 
ordinary paper, as of old, in legal documents, in defiance of the law. 
Vessels were cleared without the stamped papers, no collector being 
willing to brave the popular odium. Even the royal governors had 
to bend to the storm and grant dispensations. 



32 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 



In the midst of the general depression and gloom came a sudden 
gleam of hope. The Grenville administration went out of office, 
and was succeeded by that of the Marquis of Rockingham. The 
new ministry was composed chiefly of whigs. One of its first acts 
was to agitate the repeal of the obnoxious law. Dr. Franklin, at that 
time in London, was called before the bar of the House of Com- 
mons, in order to be interrogated respecting the opinions of his 
countrymen and the condition of the colonies. His clear and in- 
telUgent answers, united to the moderation of his sentiments, pro- 
duced a great eftect on the public mind. After the passage of the 
declaratory act to which we have before alluded, the Stamp Act 
itself was repealed, March the 15th, 1766. The intelligence was 







// ^ "ill 

RECEPTION OF NEWS OF THE REPEAL OF THE STAMP ACT. 



received in America with transports of joy. At first the repeal was 
accepted as a boon, instead of being received as a right. All hostile 
thoughts were immediately laid aside : importations were renewed, 
homespun was discarded. But this extravagant joy was of short 
duration. As soon as the first burst of enthusiasm was over, and 
men began to comprehend more exactly the true condition of things, 
it was found that England still asserted her obnoxious claim, though 
for the time being she waived its exercise. This alarming fact dis- 
turbed the public mind with fears for the future. The tone of the 
royal governors, who acted on instructions from the ministry at 
home, was, moreover, supercilious and domineering to the last 
degree. 

In the short space of a year the wor^ suspicions of the colonists 
were verified. The Rockingham administration was overthrown, 
and succeeded by one in which Charles Townshend was con- 
spicuous. That gentleman revived the idea of taxing America. 
Accordingly, in June, 1767, a bill was signed by the King, imposing 



THE NEW TAX BILL. 33 

duties on glass, tea, paper and colors imported into the colonies. 
This bill was thought to be such a one as the provinces could not 
complain of, since they had heretofore made a distinction between 
external and internal taxes : and the probability is, that, if such a 
bill had been originally passed in place of the Stamp Act, it would 
have received little or no opposition. But times had changed. The 
colonies had been taught to distrust the parent state : they had 
learned to examine into their own rights. The spirit of resistance 
which at first had flowed in a feeble and insignificant current, began 
to widen and deepen with new sources of complaint, until, finally, 
even greater concessions than it had originally asked, proving in- 
sufficient to restrain it — it rolled on, bearing down all opposition, 
and involving everything in its overwhelming torrent. 

The new tax bill was received in Massachusetts with peculiar 
disfavor. The legislature addressed a circular letter to the other 
colonies, requesting their aid in obtaining a redress of grievances. 
This gave great otfence to the English ministry, which sent out 
immediately a circular letter to the royal governors, in which the 
Massachusetts letter was denounced as factious. The governor of 
Massachusetts was ordered to require the Assembly to repeal the 
resolution on which the obnoxious epistle had been founded. On 
receiving a refusal he dissolved the Assembly. In the other pro- 
vinces the ministerial letter was treated with equal disregard. 

Meantime other causes of irritation were arising. The ministry 
had long desired to make the colonists support the royal troops 
quartered among them, which the colonists had continually refused. 
Before the dissolution of the Massachusetts Assembly, it had main- 
tained a triumphant altercation with the governor on this point. In 
New York, however, the ministry was more successful. In addition 
to their difficulties about the soldiery, came others in relation to the 
execution of the laws of trade. It had been usual to evade these 
laws very generally, but the commissioners now determined to ex- 
ercise the utmost rigor ; and in consequence, a riot arose at Boston 
in reference to the sloop Liberty, owned by John Hancock, which 
had just arrived from Madeira with a cargo of wines. The com- 
missioners in the end, had to ffy the town. In the very midst of 
these disorders several transports appeared with troops, and as the 
selectmen refused to provide for them, they were quartered in 
Fanueil Hall. More troops kept arriving, until, by the close of the 
year, the force in Boston amounted to four thousand men. 

The attitude assumed by JNIassachusetts was particularly exaspe- 
rating to the ministry. Charles Townshend was now dead, and 
5 



34 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 




FANX'EU, HALL. 



had been succeeded by Lord North, who contmued to the end of 
the war, with but a slight intermission, to be prime minister. But 
the pohcy of England was not altered. In retaliation for what was 
called the factious spirit of Massachusetts a petition to the King 
was passed, beseeching him, and in effect authorizing the colonial 
governor to arrest and send to England for trial all persons suspected 
of treason. So glaring an outrage on the rights of the colonists was 
received in America with one general cry of indignation. For its 
boldness in denouncing this outrage, the Assembly of Virginia was 
dissolved by the royal governor, Lord Botetourt. But, nothing 
intimidated, the members met immediately, and recommended to 
their fellow citizens, again, the non-importation of British goods. 
Most of the other colonies imitated this example. The popular 
sentiment warmly seconded the movement : committees were ap- 
pointed to enforce compliance ; and the names of offenders were 
published in the newspapers and held up to public scorn as enemies 
of the country. 



RIOT AT BOSTON. 35 

In the meantime, the people of Massachusetts finding their general 
court dissolved, boldly elected members to a convention ; the dif- 
ferent towns choosing the delegates. This act was a virtual declara- 
tion of independence. The convention, however, did little beyond 
petition the governor for a redress of grievances, and recommend 
endurance, patience and good order to the people. In May, 1768, 
a new general court met, when the old difficulties about the troops 
were revived. The court began by refusing to sit while Boston 
was occupied by an armed force. The governor then adjourned 
the sittings of the body to Cambridge. The court next remonstrated 
against the quartering of soldiers in the capital. The governor, in 
return, sent it an account of the expenditures for the support of the 
troops, and demanded that the sum should be paid, and a provision 
made for the future. The court refused to comply, and on this the 
governor prorogued it. 

The presence of the troops in Boston was naturally irritating to 
the inhabitants. A free people cannot brook an armed force. Fre- 
quent quarrels occurred between the townsfolk and the soldiery, but 
no serious difficulty arose until the fifth of March, 1770. On that 
day, however, an affray, in part premeditated on the side of the 
people, took place, in which the troops, as a means of self-preserva- 
tion, finally fired on the mob. Three men were killed, and several 
wounded, one of whom subsequently died. This affair has ever 
since gone by the name of the massacre. A collision Avas, perhaps, 
inevitable, considering that the very presence of the soldiers was an 
outrage ; but that the troops were not wholly to blame is proven by 
the fact that a Boston jury acquitted the captain who gave the order 
to fire, and that Josiah Quincy and John Adams, both popular 
leaders, felt it their duty to join in his defence. In all such cases 
the guilt ought to rest on the government which commands, and not 
on the officer who executes ; yet great honor is due the jury, since, 
perhaps, in no other community, under' equally exciting circum- 
stances, could a similar verdict have been obtained. 

Events now began to follow each other in rapid succession. The 
spirit of resistance was visibly on the increase. The ministry at last 
grew alarmed, and determined to try conciliatory measures. Accord- 
ingly, the duties on glass, paper and colors were repealed ; but the duty 
on tea, for the reasons we have stated, was left unaltered. This was a 
fatal blunder. Its effect was to neutralize all the rest that had been 
done. Nothing short of a total abandonment of the right of parlia- 
mentary taxation would now have satisfied the colonies ; and if 
England really wished to settle the dispute, she ought to have 



36 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

yielded this claim at once and forever. But, like a miser from 
whom a part of his store is demanded in commutation, she haggled 
for a price, her concessions always falling short of what was desired, 
imtil finally, by her greediness, she lost all. 

The southern provinces, however, were less firm than Massachu- 
setts. In this latter colony the non-importation agreement continued 
to be observed in all its vigor ; but elsewhere an exception was 
made in favor of those articles exempted by the new bill. The 
enthusiasm of many persons had already sensibly declined under the 
restrictions to v/hich they had subjected themselves, and they were 
not sorry, therefore, to find an excuse for returning to the old and 
more comfortable order of things. Had the ministry, at this juncture, 
repealed the tax on tea, and assumed even the appearance of con- 
ciliation, there can be no doubt but that the majority of the colonists 
would have become perfecdy loyal once more : a blind fate, however, 
an inexplicable perversity, hurried Lord North forward, and, by re- 
solving to force on the provinces the obnoxious tea, he broke the 
last link existing between the two countries. 

Another of those fatal misapprehensions, however, of which the 
British ministry appear to have been the victims throughout these 
difficulties, was at the bottom of this new movement. Lord North 
had been made to believe that the colonies objected to the tax itself 
rather than to the principle involved in it : in other words, that they 
feared more for their pockets than for the invasion of their rights. 
Consequently he resolved to furnish them with tea cheaper than 
they had been able to purchase it before the existence of the tax, 
and this he effected by allowing the East India company to export 
it duty free. But the colonies were not so base as to be caught in 
this lure. The trick was at once discovered. The public press 
called on the people to resist this new encroachment on their liber- 
ties. Never before had all classes been so unanimous during the 
whole progress of the dispute ; and when the ships, freighted with 
tea, were announced off" the coast, the enthusiasm passed all bounds. 
Cargoes had been sent to New York, Philadelphia, Charleston and 
Boston. New York and Philadelphia refused to suffer the tea to be 
landed, and the ships returned to London without breaking bulk. 
At Charleston the tea, though discharged, was put in damp cellars 
where it spoiled. At Boston, the citizens desired to send the vessels 
back, but the authorities refused permission : a proceeding which 
gave rise to one of the most memorable events of the Revolution. 
We allude to the destruction of the tea in Boston harbor. 



DESTRUCTION OF TEA. 



37 



No sooner had the ships approached the wharves, than the people, 
acting through a committee appointed at a town meeting, gave 
notice to the captains not to land their cargoes. A guard was 
posted on the quay, and in case of any insult during the night, the 
alarm bell was to be rung. The excitement soon spread to the 
country, from whence the people arrived in large numbers. The 
consignees, fearing violence, finally fled to the protection of the 
castle. The governor, again solicited to clear the ships, haughtily 
refused. On this being declared at the town meeting, whither the 
inhabitants had collected almost spontaneously, an alarming scene 
of uproar ensued, in the midst of which a voice from the crowd 
raised the Indian war-whoop, and the meeting dissolved in confu- 
sion. As if foreseeing what was to ensue, the crowd hurried to the 




DESTKUCTIOJJ OF TEA I\ BOaTOM HARBOR. 



wharf, where the ships laden with tea were moored. In a few 
mmutes about forty individuals disguised like Indians, and apparently 
acting on a preconcerted plan, made their appearance in the mob, 
who opened eagerly to let them pass. A rush was made for the 
ships, the Indians boarding them, while the populace silently thronged 
the wharves. The hatches were soon removed, and a portion of the 



38 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

patriots descending into the hold, passed up the tea, while the 
remainder broke open the chests as fast as they appeared, and threw 
the contents into the sea. It was night, and a profound stillness 
reigned. There was no cheering from the mob, no disorder, no 
haste. The only sound heard, was the crash of the chests, and tlie 
tread of the patriots as they crossed the decks. In two hours three 
hundred and forty chests were staved and emptied into the harbor. 
No other property whatever was injured. When all was finished, 
the disguised citizens left the ships, and quietly losing themselves 
among the crowd, disappeared, from that hour, from the public eye. 
Discovery would, perhaps, have led to the scaffold ; and hence those 
most active concealed their participation even from thefr own 
families. Tradition narrates one instance in which a good dame 
discovered, to her dismay, that her husband had been one of the 
Indians, in consequence of finding his shoes filled with tea the next 
morning by her bed-side. This memorable act, destined to excite 
the popular enthusiasm so much in subsequent times, happened on 
the 16th of December, 1773. 

On receiving intelligence of this event the British ministry were 
excessively exasperated ; and the feeling was shared by a majority 
of all classes in England. A bill was immediately passed through 
Parliament to deprive Boston of her privileges as a port of entry, 
and bestow them on Salem : another to revoke, in effect, the charter 
of Massachusetts, by making all magistrates in the colony be 
appointed by the King, and at his pleasure : and a third to give the 
royal go,vernor the power, at his discretion, to send persons charged 
with homicide, or other criminal offences, to England for trial. To 
these measures of rigor was added one of conciliation. The gov- 
ernor of Massachusetts was recalled, and General Gage, a man 
popular in the colonies, appointed in his place ; the most ample 
authority being given him to pardon all treasons and remit forfeitures. 

When the intelligence of these acts arrived in America, the whole 
country rose in sympathy and indignation. Virginia, as on the 
passage of the Stamp Act, was the first to sound the tocsin of alarm. 
The 1st of June, the day on which the port-bill was to take effect, 
was selected as a day of fasting, humiliation and prayer ; copies of 
the gfct were printed on mourning paper, and disseminated far and 
wide ; and popular orators in the public halls, as well as ministers 
of the gospel in their churches, exhausted eloquence and invective 
to inflame the minds of the people. The governor of Virginia, 
alarmed at the bold language of its Assembly, dissolved that body ; 
but not before the members had resolved that an attempt to coerce 



THE COLONISTS SEIZE THE PUBLIC ARMS. 39 

one colony, should be regarded as an attack on all, and resisted 
accordingly. And as a pledge of the sincerity of this opinion, 
another general Congress was recommended,, in order that the colo- 
nies might deliberate, as one man, on what was best to be done for 
the interests of America. Thus the two nations, like hostile armies 
approaching each other, after successive skirmishes, which continu- 
ally grew more serious, had now met on a common battle-ground, 
and were marshalling their respective forces into a compact line for 
a general and decisive assault. 

The day on which the port-bill went into operation, as on the 
similar occasion of the Stamp Act, was observed throughout the 
country as a season of mourning. In Boston tears and lamentations 
were everywhere heard, mingled with angry execrations and threats ; 
for by this act whole families were reduced to indigence, and 
business of all kinds received a fatal blow. But, in the emergency, 
the sympathy of the country came to their aid. Salem tendered the 
use of her wharves to the merchants of the persecuted city, nobly 
refusing to take advantage of her neighbor's misfortunes : while 
collections for the relief of the sufferers were made in most of the 
colonies, and promptly forwarded. Ad^ed to this, a league, which 
was now started in Boston, to stop all commerce with England until 
the tyrannical acts were repealed, was enthusiastically received in 
the other colonies, and signed with avidity ; while the Virginia 
proposition for another general Congress was adopted by the several 
legislatures, and delegates chosen accordingly. The City of Phila- 
delphia, from its superior wealth and importance, as well as from 
its central situation, was designated as the place of meeting. 

Meanwhile the civil magistrates in Massachusetts suspended their 
functions, the people, since the law altering the appointment of these 
officers, interfering to prevent their holding courts, or otherwise ex- 
ercising authority. In these commotions, not only the irresponsible, 
but the wealthy took part : the landed proprietors being foremost. 
An opinion that war was inevitable began to spread. The Assem- 
bly of Massachusetts having been countermanded by General Gage, 
ninety of the members met, in defiance of the proclamation, and, 
among'other things, passed an act for the enlistment of a number of 
inhabitants to be ready to march at a minute's warning ; and .with 
such alacrity was this warlike movement seconded by the people, 
that, soon after, on a false alarm that the royal army had fired Bos- 
ton, thirty thousand men, in a few hours, assumed arms and pro- 
ceeded towards the scene of strife. Everywhere throughout the New 
England states the powder in the public magazines was seized. At 



40 



THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. 



Newport, R. I., the inhabitants took possession of forty pieces of 
cannon which defended the harbor. At Portsmouth, N. H., the 
people stormed the fort and carried off the artillery. The thmrder- 
bolts of war were rapidly forgmg. 




carpenters' hall, PHrLADELPHlA, WHERE THE FIRSf CONGRESS MET. 



The Congress met on the 14th of September, 1774. All the colo- 
nies were represented. Never before had so august a body assem- 
bled on the American continent. The members having been chosen 
for their ability, their prudence, or their large possessions, the confi- 
dence in them was extreme ; and they were universally regarded as 
men who, in some way or other, would rescue their country from its 
difficulties. There was, therefore, as if by tacit consent, a general 
pause on all sides, every eye being directed to this solemn and mo- 
mentous assembly. 

The first act of the Congress was to choose Peyton Randolph, of 
Virginia, President, and Charles Thomson, of Philadelphia, Secre- 
tary ; a selection hidicative of its future proceedings, both men being 
singularly remarkable for prudence and firmness. Its next was to 
pass a series of resolutions commending the province of Massachu- 
setts for its patriotic course. After this, it published a declaration 
of rights. Next it resolved to enter into a non-importation, non- 



ACTS OF THE FIRST CONGRESS. 41 

consumption, and non-exportation agreement. And finally, it adopt- 
ed an address to the people of Great Britain, a memorial to the 
inhabitants of British America, and a petition to the King. 

These several documents were written with a moderation and 
eloquence which immediately attracted the attention of Europe, and 
have rendered them models of state papers even to the present time. 
The address to the people of England displayed particular merit. It 
avoided, with great tact, any oftence to their prejudices, while it 
strove to enlist them in the cause of America, by the common bond 
of interest. The memorial, however, wholly failed of its purpose, 
as did also the petition to the King : the public opinion in England, 
excepting with a portion of the whigs, continuing to be as obstinate 
as ever. The Congress, having executed its task in a manner to 
win the increased confidence of the country, and extort the applause 
of unprejudiced Europe, adjourned, after appointing the 10th of JNIay, 
1775, for the convocation of another general Congress, by which 
period, it was supposed, the answers to the memorial would be 
received. 

The Legislature of Pennsylvania, which convoked towards the 
close of the year, was the first constitutional authority which ratified 
the acts of Congress, and elected deputies for the ensuing. Provi- 
sion was immediately made of gunpowder, iron, steel, saltpetre and 
other munitions of war. Maryland, Delaware, New Hampshire, 
and South Carolina soon after responded to the action of Congress 
in like manner ; while Massachusetts and Virginia, in which the 
flame of liberty had first blazed forth, emulated each other in enthu- 
siastic preparations for the appeal to arms. In the latter colony, the 
officers of the provincial militia, after expressing their loyalty to the 
King, signified their determination to embark in the cause of the 
Congress; while in the former place, regiments were formed at 
Marblehead, Salem, and other seaports, of men thrown out of em- 
ployment, and thus doubly exasperated against England. In a word, 
the whole country suddenly assumed the aspect of a garrisoned 
camp, about to be beseiged, where all men busied themselves with 
forging armor, preparing weapons, and disciplining actively against 
the arrival of the foe. 

But one exception existed to this unanimity of opinion }■ and that 
was in the case of the colony of New York. This province had 
been, from its foundation, less republican in the character of its in- 
stitutions than the others : and now, whether from this or other causes, 
it numbered a larger proportion of royalists than any sister colony. 
Moreover, the merchants of New York city were deeply interested 

6 D* 



42 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

against the non-importation agreement. In consequence, the recomr 
mendations of Congress were not responded to m this province. 

When the English ministry first saw the imposing attitude assumed 
by the Congress, and the enthusiasm with which the recommenda- 
tion was received by tlie Americans, the idea was for a moment 
entertained by Lord North, of making such concessions as would 
arrest the threatened conflict. The disaifection of New York, how- 
ever, changed the ministers resolution. Imbibing the idea that the 
loyalists in this latter colony outnumbered the patriots, and that they 
were a numerous and increasing body in the other provinces, he 
determined to abandon all thought of conciliation, believing that the 
Americans would yet eventuaUy succumb. In this opinion he was 
sustained by the declarations of General Grant, and others who had 
been in the provinces, and who boasted, that with five regiments the 
whole continent could be subdued. > 

Accordingly, several severe acts were immediately passed against 
the colonies. Their trade was restricted to Great Britain and the 
West India islands, and their lucrative fishery on the Newfoundland 
Banks prohibited ; an exception, however, being made in favor of 
New York and North Carolina. They also held out inducements 
for the difierent provinces to return to allegiance separately, hoping 
thus to break up the league, which was what they chiefly dreaded. 
They gave orders to embark ten thousand troops to America. And 
finally, as the crowning act of the whole, they declared the province 
of Massachusetts in a state of rebellion ; firmly believing that the use 
of that terrible word, so intimately associated with the axe and 
scaftbld, would frighten the colonists into submission. 

But they had to do with men of sterner stufl", and who were not 
to be moved by such anticipations. The sons of those patriots who 
had dared Charles the First in the height of his power ; had with- 
stood even the terrible Cromwell ; and had been willing to share the 
block with Russell and Sydney, in a gloomier hour, were not to be 
intimidated by the name of treason, or driven from their course even 
by the ghastly terrors of Temple Bar. The news of the proceedings 
of Parliament was received with a burst of indignant enthusiasm. 
In Massachusetts, as the province most nearly concerned, the flame 
blazed highest and most intense. The Congress of that colony 
passed, with acclamation, a resolution to purchase gmipowder and 
procure arms for a force of fifteen thousand men. The people 
busied themselves secretly in fulfilling this order. Camion balls 
were carried through the English post in carts of manure ; powder 
in the baskets of farmers retm-ning from market : and cartridges in 



ASSEMBLING OF THE MINUTE MEN. 



43 




BATTLE OF LEXINGTON. 



candle-boxes. Watches were posted at Cambridge, Roxbury, and 
Charlestown, to be on service day and night, in order to give warn- 
ing to the towns where magazines were kept, in case General Gage 
should despatch a force to seize them. Like the inhabitants of a 
feudal frontier in momentary expectation of invasion, the people, as 
it were, slept on their arms, ready, at the light of the first beacon, to 
vault into the saddle, and gallop on the foe. 

An outbreak could not be long averted. On the 18th of April, 
1775, an expedition set out secretly from Boston, composed of the 
gi'enadiers and several companies of light infantry, destined to 
destroy the provincial stores collected at Concord, about twenty- 
eight miles distant. Notwithstanding precautions had been taken 
to preserve the expedition secret, the colonists received intelligence 
of the projected movement, and fleet couriers were despatched 
in advance, to alarm the towns along the route, and procure the 
removal of the stores. The bells rung ; cannon were fired ; beacons 
blazed on the night ; and everywhere the country was filled with 
excitement and alarm. The minute men turned out. The people 
armed. At Lexington a small party had assembled on the green, 
certainly with no intention of immediate strife, as their number was 



44 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

too few, when, at daylight, the British grenadiers appeared in sight, 
and Major Pitcairn, considerably excited, riding up, exclaimed, 
"Disperse, you rebels, lay down your arms and disperse." The 
provincials hesitated to obey. Pitcairn, springing from the ranks, 
fired a pistol at the foremost minute-man, brandished his sword, and 
ordered the soldiers to fire. On this the provincials retired, sullenly 
lighting as they fled. 

The English commander, now sensible of his imprudence, hurried 
on eagerly to Concord. Here the inhabitants were found in arms, 
but, being too few to make a successful stand, they were routed by 
the light infantry, while the remainder of the royal force proceeded 
to destroy the stores, which the colonists had not had leisure to 
remove. This occupied some time, at the end of which the country 
people began to swarm to the scene. The light infantry, which at 
first had been victorious, was now in turn compelled to fly, and re- 
joining the grenadiers, the whole body commenced a precipitate 
retreat. 

The country rose with one sentiment, on hearing of the massacre 
at Lexington, and marched to intercept the fugitives on their retreat. 
In consequence, the English, on their way back to Boston, had to 
maintain a rmming fight ; the provincials harassing them from every 
cross-road, from behind stone fences, and from the windows of 
houses. But for the timely arrival of a reinforcement under Lord 
Percy, which joined the fugitives at Lexington, the whole detach- 
ment would have fallen a sacrifice. Weary, dispirited, and weak 
from wounds, the royal soldiers reached Charlestown neck at night- 
fall, and the next day slmik into Boston, where they remained 
besieged until the evacuation of the town in the succeeding year. 

In this manner was the first blow struck in the memorable war 
for American Independence : a war which laid the foundation of a 
mighty republic, and has since shaken half the habitable globe. 




THE MINUTE MAN OF THE EEVOLUTION. 



BOOK 11. 



TO THE BATTLE OP TRENTON. 



HE intelligence of the battle of Lex- 
ington traversed the country with the 
speed of a miracle. On the first news 
of the fight, couriers, mounted on 
fleet horses, started off" in every direc- 
! tion, and when one gave out another 
took his place, so that before midnight 
: the event was known at Plymouth, 
and on the next day through all the 
_ peaceful vallies of Connecticut. Eve- 

rywhere the information was received as a signal for war. Old 
and young seized their arms and hastened without delay to 
Boston. The provincial leaders in the late French war, who had 
for nearly fifteen years of peace been quietly at work on their farms, 
re-appeared from their obscurity, resumed their swords, and called on 




46 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

their countrymen to follow them in this new and more righteous quar- 
rel. The summons was obeyed with alacrity. The New Hampshire 
militia were on the ground almost before the smoke of battle had 
subsided : the Connecticut regiments followed in little more than a 
week ; while from Massachusetts the people poured in, with con- 
stantly increasing numbers, inland as well as sea-coast contributing 
its quota to the fray. 

On the day after the battle, the Provincial Congress of Mas- 
sachusetts ordered a levy of thirteen thousand six hundred men : 
an example which Avas followed, though of course on a smaller 
scale, by the other New England states. Before a month an 
army, fifteen thousand strong, besieged Boston. This imposing 
force was under the command of General Thomas Ward, of 
Massachusetts, who fixed his headquarters at Roxbury. General 
Putnam, of Connecticut, was posted at Cambridge, as his subor- 
dinate. At first the popular enthusiasm ran so high that the 
Generals were forced to decline recruits, more presenting themselves 
than they were authorized to enlist. 

Meantime, in consequence of the investment, a scarcity of food 
began to be felt in Boston. Skirmishes between the provincial 
and royal detachments sent out for supplies, were the frequent 
result. In this strait the citizens waited on General Gage and 
solicited permission to leave the town, to which he at first ac- 
ceded ; but in the end, fearing that the city would be set on 
fire as soon as the patriots had retired, he withdrew his consent. 
After this, none of the townspeople were suffered to depart, except 
in rare instances, and then only by the sacrifice of their furniture, 
which they were restricted from removing. 

Not only in New England, but throughout all the Middle and 
Southern colonies, the intelligence of the battle of Lexington was 
received with a burst of enthusiastic patriotism. In New York the tory 
ascendancy was swept away, never again to be recovered; in Virginia 
the inhabitants rose under Patrick Henry, and drove the governor. 
Lord Dunmore, to his fleet : in South Carolina a Provincial Congress 
was convoked, and every man in the colony ofiered for the service of 
the common cause : while in Maryland, Pennsylvania and New Jer- 
sey the public arms and treasures were seized, people of all classes, 
even some of the loyalists themselves, joining in a common cry of 
vengeance for their slaughtered countrymen. 

Meantime two bold and original minds, simultaneously, and 
in different sections of the country, conceived the idea of cap- 
turing Ticonderoga, a fort at the southern extremity of Lake 



CAPTURE OF FORT TICONDEROGA. 



47 



Champlain, commanding the highway to the Canadas. It was 
thought that not only would the fall of this place supply the 
colonies with artillery, of which they were deficient, but so bril- 
liant a feat, thus early in the war, would exercise a powerful 
moral influence. Colonel Ethan Allen, with a company of Green 
Mountain boys, had already started on this expedition, when he was 
overtaken by Colonel Arnold, of Connecticut, who had left the camp 
at Roxbury, on a like design. The surprise of the latter was ex- 
treme to find himself anticipated, but not less so than his chagrin. 
Bold and impetuous, yet haughty and irritable, he at first demurred 
to serving under Allen, but finally consented, and the two leaders 
moved on in company, with despatch and secrecy, on which every- 
thing depended. Arriving at Ticonderoga with but eighty three 
men, they surprised the fort at day -break on the 10th of May. But 
one sentry was at his post ; the Americans rushed in, formed into 




COL. ALLEN SUMMONING THE COMMANDER OF FORI TICONDEROGA TO SURRENDER. 



squares, and gave three cheers, which awoke the garrison. Some 
skirmishing ensued, but defence was vain. Hastily aroused from 
bed, the commander of the fort stepped forward, unable as yet to 
comprehend why, or by whom, he was assailed. " In whose name 
am I called on to surrender ?" he asked. " In the name of the 
great Jehovah and the Continental Congress ! " replied Allen. Pur- 



48 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

suing their plan, the provincials sent a detachment immediately to 
Crown Point, another fort higher up the lake, which also fell into 
their possession. A British sloop of war was, soon after, captured 
by Arnold in the most brilliant manner. By these bold achieve- 
ments a large quantity of artillery and ammunition was obtained, 
besides the command of the great highway leading from the Cana- 
das to the Hudson. Arnold was left in command at Crown Point, 
while Allen retained Ticonderoga. 

When General Gage found himself besieged, he began to con- 
cert measures to break the meshes of his net. The provincial 
army extended in a semi-circle around Boston, on the land side, 
reaching from the Mystic river on the north, to Roxbury, on 
the south ; the whole line being twelve miles long, and suitably 
defended by ramparts of earth. Gage resolved to force this barricade, 
at Charlestown Neck. To do so it was first necessary to seize and 
fortify Bunker Hill, an elevation situated just where the peninsula 
shoots out from the mainland. The design, however, was pene- 
trated by the colonists, who resolved to anticipate him. Accordingly, 
at midnight on the 16th of June, a detachment of men, a thousand 
strong, under the command of Col. Prescott, was marched secretly 
across Charlestown Neck, with orders to entrench itself on the sum- 
mit of Bunker Hill. Putnam, however, who went with the detach- 
ment, being desirous of bringing on a battle, induced the alteration 
of the original plan, and the fortifications, instead of being erected 
on Bunker Hill, were begun on Breed's Hill, an elevation further 
in the peuhisula, and directly overlooking Boston. It was after 
uiidnight when the first spade was struck into the ground, but be- 
fore daAvn, which happened at this season at four o'clock, a con- 
siderable redoubt had risen on the summit of the hill : and when the 
enemy awoke, he beheld, with astonishment, this fortification tower- 
ing down upon him like some edifice of Arabian story, the magic 
exhalation of a night. 

It was instantly resolved to drive the Americans from the 
height. Accordingly a cannonade was begun from the royal 
ships in the river below, which was continued throughout the 
morning ; but the provincials worked silently on, and before 
noon had nearly completed their defences. These were a redoubt 
about eight rods square on the summit of the hill, flanked with a 
breast-work of earth, and a parapet running down towards Mystic 
river made of two parallel rail-fences, filled up between with hay. 
Some reinforcements arrived just as the battle was about to begin, 
raising the number of the provincials to nearly fifteen limidred, 



BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL, 49 

Generals Pomeroy and Warren both joined the combatants ahnost 
at the moment of engagement, but dechned to fight except as vohui- 
teers. Consequently Col. Prescott continued in command. Putnam, 
though absent during the morning, was present when the crisis 
came, and by his voice and example contributed materially to the 
glory of the day. 

Two plans were proposed to dislodge the Americans. Clinton 
would have landed at Charlestown Neck, and by interposing between 
the detachment on Breed's Hill and the main army, compelled the 
surrender of the former. But Howe advocated a bolder plan. He 
proposed to storm the entrenchments in front. As this was more 
agreeable to the pride of the English, and to the contempt in which 
they held their enemy, it was finally adopted. A little after noon, 
accordingly, Howe crossed the river with ten companies of grena- 
diers, as many of light infantry, and a proportionate number of 
artillery. Having reconnoitered the redoubt, he thought proper to 
delay his attack until he had sent for reinforcements. It was three 
o'clock before he began to move up the hill, which he did slowly, 
his artillery playing as he advanced. The Americans, meanwhile, 
withheld their fire. " Do not pull a trigger until you can see their 
waistbands," said Putnam. Volley after volley poured from the 
British ranks : but there was no reply from the Americans ; the silence 
of death hung over their line. Some of the English began to think 
the colonists did not intend to fight. But a glittering array of mus- 
kets, projecting from their entrenchments, convinced the few who 
knew them better, otherwise. " Do not deceive yourselves," said 
one of the bravest of the royal officers to his companions, " when 
these Yankees are silent in this way, they mean something." At 
last the assailants were within eight rods of the defences. Suddenly 
a solitary musket blazed from the redoubt. It was the signal for a 
thousand others which went ofi' in irregular succession ; a scattering 
fire first rolling down the line, and then returning ; after which fol- 
lowed an explosion from the whole front, as if a volcano had burst 
forth. Each colonist had taken deliberate aim. The eftect was 
terrific. The English rank and file went down like grain beaten by 
a tempest. For an instant those who remained unhurt stopped, and 
' gazed around as if unable to comprehend this sudden and unexpect- 
ed carnage : then, as the fire of the Americans, which had slackened, 
began again, they reeled wildly before it, broke, and fled down 
the hill. 

Three times the British troops were led to the assault. Twice 
they recoiled, broken and in dismav. Between the first and second 
7 E 



50 ' THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. l 

charge there was but a slight pause : the troops were rallied almost im- 
mediately and led to the charge again. As they advanced, the town of 
Charlestown was fired at the suggestion of Howe, that officer hoping 
that the smoke would conceal an attack intended to be made simulta- 
neously on the southern side of the redoubt. The wind, however, was 
unfavorable, and the colonists detected the manoeuvre ; while the sight 
of the burning houses inflamed them to new fury. Again the British 
were sulfered to approach within eight rods : again the colonists 
poured in their deadly fire : again the assailants broke and fled, this 
time in uttfer confusion, and in such wild terror that many did not stop 
until they reached the boats. Half an hour now elapsed before the 
courage of the British soldiers could be re-animated. At last, Clinton 
arrived to succor Howe. The troops were now rallied and led once 
more to the attack, with orders, this time, to carry the redoubt by 
the bayonet. The fate of the third assault would probably not 
have diflered from that of the two others, had not the ammunition 
of the colonists become exhausted. After a fruitless struggle, hand 
to hand, they were forced from the redoubt. Finding the day lost, 
a general retreat was ordered. It was during this retreat that the 
chief loss of the Americans occurred. After performing prodigies 
of valor, the provincials made good their escape over Charlestown 
Neck, leaving the enemy masters of the field. 

But it was a dearly bought victory for the King. The number 
of killed and wounded in the royal army was fifteen hundred ; 
while that of the Americans was but little over four hundred.. 
Though the possession of the field remained with the British, 
the moral effect of the day was on the side of the provin- 
cials. That a comparatively small body of ill-disciplined militia 
should hold in check a force of regular troops twice their number, 
was something new in military annals, and proved that the people 
capable of doing this were not to be despised as foes. From that 
day the English no longer scorned their enemy. Nor was the 
effect of the battle less powerful in Europe. Military men saw at 
once that, however protracted the strife might be, the victory must 
at last rest with the Americans. The whole continent gazed with 
surprise on this new and striking spectacle. Nowhere in the old 
world did there exist a country, the common people of which were 
capable of such heroic deeds. No European peasantry would have 
ventured to assume so bold an attitude, or to have defended it so 
obstinately. The battle of Bunker Hill revealed a new social prob- 
lem. It was as if a thunder-bolt had burst over astonished Europe ; 
and men stood in silent wonder and amazement, which increased 



PROCEEDINGS OF CONGRESS. 51 

I 

as the storm rolled darker to the zenith, and the firmament quaked 
with new explosions. 

Meantime Congress had met on the appointed day, the 10th of 
May, when the news of the battle of Lexington being laid officiallv 
before them, they resolved unanimously that the colonies should be 
put in a state of defence. They issued instructions to procure pow- 
der ; passed a resolution to equip twenty thousand men ; and, in order 
to meet the necessary expenses, emitted bills of credit for which the 
faith of the united colonies was pledged. They now proceeded to the 
choice of a commander in chief. The New England states were 
anxious that one of their officers should be selected, but the more south- 
ern colonies regarded this proposal with disfavor. In this emergency 
John Adams suggested Col. George Washington, of Virginia, then 
a member of the Congress, and favorably known for his moderation, 
sound judgment, and military skill. The vote in his favor was 
unanimous. On being notified of the result, Washington made a 
few modest, yet dignified remarks. He expressed his unworthiness 
for the task, and begged the Congress to remember, in case of any 
failures on his part, that he had forewarned them of his incapacity 
He finished by declaring that, since no pecuniary consideration 
could induce him to abandon his domestic ease and enter this ardu- 
ous career, he did not wish to derive any profit from it, and would 
therefore accept no pay. 

The Congress next proceeded to issue a manifesto, justifying 
themselves before the world for the part they were taking. They 
also voted a letter to the English people, an address to the 
King, and an epistle to the Irish nation. They resolved fur- 
ther to thank the city of London for the countenance that she 
had shown them, as also to address the people of Canada, and 
invite them to make common cause against Great Britain. All 
these various documents were distinguished by a moderation and 
dignity which won the most favorable opinions among the conti- 
nental nations of Europe. The Congress also undertook measures 
to secure the neutrality of the Indian tribes, and counteract the 
machinations of Sir George Carleton, Governor of Canada, who was 
intriguing to arm them against the defenceless frontier. A general 
fast day was appointed, and it was considered a favorable omen 
that Georgia, which had hitherto been unrepresented in Congress, 
joined the league of the other colonies on the day fixed for this 
religious observance. Massachusetts was advised to form a govern- 
ment, for herself, which was accordingly done : and her example 
was r;eedily followed by New Hampshire, Virginia and Pennsylva- 



52 THE WAR OP INDEPElfDENCE. 

nia. The Congress then devoted itself to the task of drawing up 
articles of federation, which should bind the colonies during the war : 
these being prepared, somewhat on the plan of the subsequent con- 
stitution, were accepted by all the colonies except North CaroUna. 
In short, matters were daily tending towards a formal separation of 
the provinces from the mother country, the necessity for such a de- 
termination hourly becoming more irresistible ; and the convictions 
of a few leading minds, moving with an accelerated speed in that 
direction, soon gathered around them the mass of the public senti- 
ment, and hurried it impetuously to the same conclusion. 

Washington lost no time in repairing to the army at Cam- 
bridge, which Congress had already adopted as its own. Here 
he found everything in confusion. The troops were rather a 
mob of enthusiastic patriots than a body of efficient soldiery. 
There was no pretence of discipline in the camp. The men 
elected their own officers, and consequently did very uiuch as 
they pleased. Their terms of enlistment were so short, that they 
had scarcely time to learn the routine of a soldier's duty, before their 
period expired, and they returned to their homes. There was little 
powder in the country, much less at camp. Added to this there 
existed an almost universal dissatisfaction among the higher officers 
at the Congressional appointments of Major and Brigadier Generals: 
a result inevitable, since all could not be gratified, and whoever was 
neglected was sure to complain. An ordinary man would have 
shrunk at once from this complication of difficulties. But Washing- 
ton set himself judiciously, yet firmly to correct these evils. Nor did 
he wholly fail. Jealousies were removed : discipline was strength- 
ened ; and munitions of war were provided ; but the main evil, the 
short enlistment of troops, could not be corrected in consequence of 
the jealousy of Congress against a standing army. It was not until 
later, when the country rocked on the very abyss of ruin, that Wash- 
ington's representations prevailed, and an earnest effi)rt was made 
to enlist soldiers for the war. 

Meantime the siege of Boston was continued with unabated vigor 
Congress had placed the army establishment at twenty thousand men; 
and nearly that number of troops now environed the hostile town. On 
the sea the colonies were not less active. Vessels had been fitted out 
by the difterent provinces, which distinguished themselves by their ac- 
tivity in preying upon British commerce. In this way numerous valu- 
able prizes were taken at a considerable distance from the coast, while 
ships, laden with provisions and munitions for the English army, 
were almost daily captured. In retaliation, the enemy began to 



LEE SENT TO FORTIFY NEW YORK. 



53 




SIEGE OF BOSTON. 



commit depredations on the coast. Frequent skirmishes occurred hi 
consequence, in which the colonists were not always worsted. This 
induced one act, at least, unworthy of the British name. About the 
middle of October, the town of Falmouth, in Massachusetts, was 
bombarded and reduced to ashes, as a punishment for some of its 
inhabitants having molested a ship laden Avith the effects of loyalists. 
The horrors of civil war were now beginning to be felt. 

Congress had desired that Boston might be stormed, and Wash- 
ington appears to have entertained the same wish, but a council 
of war decided against the measure, as calculated to risk too 
much. In the meanwhile intelligence was received of a secret 
expedition on the part of the British, under the command of 
Sir Henry Clinton ; and fearing it might be directed against New 
York, Major General Lee was despatched to fortify that city, and 
on his way, to raise troops in Connecticut for its defence. At New 
York it was discovered that Clinton's destination was the South, and 
at the request of Congress, Lee followed him thither. In another 
place we shall speak of the gallant repulse which the ememy's ex- 
pedition met. Leaving the army around Boston, to watch the 
straitened foe, and wait the coming in of the ever memorable year 

E* 



54 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

1776, let us now retrace our steps to the preceding September, ui 
order to carry on, in an unbroken series from its commencement, the 
narrative of the war in Canada, 

Congress had early adopted the idea that the assisuince of Canada 
was necessary to success in the contest against the parent state. The 
refusal of the Canadians to side with England, though in reality pro- 
ceeding from inditference to either party, was interpreted as a proof of 
secret atiection to the colonial cause. Accordingly, one of the earliest 
measure of Congress was to send an address to the Canadians, backed 
by an armed force to act against the British authority. The command 
of this expedition was entrusted to Generals Schuyler and Montgom- 
ery, but the former falling sick, the latter obtained the sole direction of 
the enterprize. He was admirably fitted for his task, and advanced 
with rapidity. On the 10th of September, the Americans landed at 
St, John's, the first British post in Canada : and in a short time, with 
but one slight check, they had taken Fort Chamblee, St. John's, and 
Montreal; driving Sir George Carleton a fugitive to Quebec. 

Simultaneously with the expedition mider Montgomery, which 
had advanced by the usual route of Lake Champlain, another expedi- 
tion, commanded by Arnold, and despatched by Washington, was 
penetrating to Canada through the wilds of Maine. Never was a more 
difficult enterprize undertaken, or an apparent impossibility so gallant- 
ly overcome. Through trackless forests, across rugged hills, over rivers 
full of rapids, the little army made its way, often without food, more 
often without rest, and frequently drenched to the skin for days. In 
six weeks the expedition reached Canada. It burst on the aston- 
ished enemy, as if it had risen suddenly from tlie earth ; and in the 
first moments of consternation Quebec had nearly become its prey. 
But the enemy having been treacherously informed of Arnold's ap- 
proach, had made themselves ready to receive him; and he was forced 
to abandon the enterprise at present. On the first of December, how- 
ever, the forces of Montgomery and Arnold were united, and they 
resolved now to undertake together what Arnold had found himself 
incompetent to achieve alone. On the 31st, they made their com- 
bined attack on that celebrated fortress. Montgomery gained the 
heights of Abraham, but fell almost in the arms of victory ; and on 
this fatal event, the troops under him retreated. Arnold made an 
attack on the other side of the town, but was wounded in the leg at 
the first onset, and carried otf the field : the darkness of the morning 
prevented Morgan, who succeeded in the command, from pursuing 
the advantages he at first gained, and in the end that gallant officer, 



CANADA ABANDONED BY THE AMERICANS. 




with his riflemen, was captured. Thus the attack, on all sides, was 
repulsed. 

The subsequent story of the war in Canada is soon told. On 
the death of Montgomery, Arnold succeeded to the chief com- 
mand, and besieged Quebec ; but the small-pox appeared among 
his troops, and though he was reinforced, the breaking up of 
the ice in the succeeding May, enabling the English fleet to 
ascend the St. Lawrence, compelled him to retire. Meantime, 
the prejudices of the Canadians had been aroused against the Ameri- 
cans, partly in consequence of the indiscretions of our troops, so that 
instead of finding the people their friends, they discovered in them 
irreconcilable enemies. By the end of May, the British force in 
Canada amounted to thirteen thousand men. To continue, it was 
wisely judged, would be to play a losing game, and invite almost 
certain destruction. Accordingly, on the 15th of June, 1776, Gen- 
eral Sullivan, who had been sent meantime to take the command, 
abandoned Montreal, and led his army back to Crown Pomt, with 
comparative little loss. The enemy did not, at that time, follow the 



56 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

receding wave, but in the succeeding year, as we shall find, poured 
his advancing tide on the track of the fugitives. 

Meanwhile, in England, preparations had been making to carry 
on the war with an energy that should at once put down, 
all further opposition. General Howe was to be sent out to 
supercede Gage, and Lord Howe was to accompany his brother 
with a fleet. As great difficulty, however, existed in enlist- 
ing a sufficient number of recruits in England, overtures were 
made, at first to Russia, and subsequently to Holland, to furnish 
soldiers. Great Britain to pay a fixed premium per head. In both 
cases the application failed. Some of the lesser German principali- 
ties were, however, found, at last, to consent that their soldiers 
should enter a foreign service. In this manner seventeen thousand 
Hessians were procured. The intelligence of this event was received 
in America with almost universal horror and detestation, and con- 
tributed materially to increase the exasperation of the colonies, and 
hasten their separation from the mother country. 

With this force of Hessians, and an additional one of nearly 
thirty thousand native born soldiers, the British government pre- 
pared to open the campaign of 1776. The ministry was the 
more active in its exertions, because desirous of striking some 
decisive blow before France should join in the quarrel ; for 
already it was foreseen that jealousy of her ancient rival would 
induce that power to assist America, as soon as convinced that a 
reconciliation was impossible. With these extensive prepara- 
tions, however, conciUation was not forgotten, and it was resolved 
to send out commissioners to America to grant individual amnesties, 
and to declare a colony, or colonies restored to its allegiance to the 
King, and therefore to be exempt from the hostility of the royal 
troops. It was hoped in this manner to seduce a portion of the pro- 
vincials back to loyalty, and thus break the combined strength of 
the whole. The two Howes were named as these commissioners. 

While these preparations were making in England, in America 
things were hastening to a crisis. The year opened with an un- 
diminished enthusiasm on the part of the continental army besieging 
Boston. The royal garrison suffered greatly for provisions. Before 
the end of February, Washington found himself at the head of four- 
teen thousand men. He had long wished to attack Boston, but had 
been overruled by his council of officers ; now, however, he resolved 
to commence offensive operations without delay. He accordingly 
determined to occupy Dorchester Heights, which commanded Boston 
on the south. On the 4th of March, 1776, the contemplated works 



ATTACK UPON CHxVRLESTON. 57 

were begun, under cover of a heavy fire from the American battery 
on the British Hues. Howe, who had meantime arrived to supercede 
Gage, no sooner saw these fortifications rising on his right, than he 
resolved to dislodge the Americans ; and everything had been pre- 
pared for the assault, when a storm suddenly arose and prevented 
the conflict. The continentals, in the meantime, finished their 
works, which Howe now considered too strong to render an attack 
advisable. To remam longer in Boston, with Dorchester heights in 
possession of Washington, was impossible for the English General. 
Accordingly, he resolved to evacuate the place ; and Washington, 
on receiving notice of his intenton, agreed not to molest him. The 
evacuation was perfected on the 17th of March, on which day the 
inhabitants beheld with joy the British departing, tfle whole harbor 
being dotted with the transports that bore away the foe. Large 
numbers of loyalists followed the retreating army to Halifax. The 
Americans entered the evacuated city with rejoicings, and immedi- 
ately proceeded to fortify it ; after which Washington moved the 
main portion of his force in the direction of New York, where he 
foresaw the next attempt of the English would be made. 

We have intimated before that Gen. Lee, who had at first been 
despatched to fortify New York, had subsequently been sent to the 
Southern States, where it was expected a descent would be made 
by the English, at the instigation of the royalists, who, though less 
numerous than the whigs, were in considerable force there. As the 
spring advanced it became nearly certain that Charleston was the pro- 
jected point of attack. Accordingly, measures were taken to strength- 
en the harbor and place the town in a state of defence. Among other 
things, Sullivan's Island, six miles below the city, was fortified, as it 
was placed in a favorable position to command the channel. These 
hasty preparations had scarcely been completed when the expected 
English fleet arrived off the coast. The squadron was mider the 
command of Sir Peter Parker, and comprised two vessels of fifty 
guns each, four of twenty-eight, one of twenty -two, one of twenty, 
and two of eight. Besides this, there were nearly forty transports, 
containing three thousand land forces, under the command of 
Clinton. On the 25th of June, the English fleet advanced to the 
attack of the fort on Sullivan's Island ; Clinton, at the same time, 
intending to disembark on the neighboring island of Long Island, 
and assail the fort on land. But a succession of easterly winds had 
so deepened the channel between Sullivan's Island and Long Island, 
that Clinton found it impossible to ford it, and was compelled to 
abandon his part of the attack. The fleet nevertheless persisted. 
8 



58 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 




ADMntAL SIR PETER PARKER. 



Three of the frigates, however, ran aground, and could not take up 
the positions assigned them. The others, nevertlieless, gallantly 
began the combat, which, for some horns, raged with awful fury. 
Never were greater prodigies of valor performed than on that day 
in the American fort. The city was in full sight across the water, 
and the inhabitants gazed anxiously on the spectacle. From ten 
o'clock in the morning until after twilight, the combat was aiain- 
tained on both sides with fury : the English firing shot and shells 
incessantly, the Americans replying from their guns with deliberate 
and deadly aim. All day the sky was black with bombs, whirling and 
hissing as they flew: all day the roar and blaze of artilleiy deafened 



DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 59 

the ears and blinded the sight of the thousands of spectators. Many of 
the British vessels were almost cut to pieces ; their crews suffered terri- 
bly. Night came, but still the strife continued. Fiery missives crossed 
and re-crossed the heavens ; the smoke that lay along the water 
grew lurid in the darkness. At last the firing slackened. By eleven 
at night the fleet slipped cables and retired out of range of the fort. 
The next morning, one of the royal ships, the Acteon, which had 
grounded and could not be carried off, was set on fire and deserted, 
on which she blew up. Seven thousand balls, picked up on the 
island after the engagement, evinced the fury of the attack. When 
we consider that the American force consisted of less tlian four hun- 
dred regulars, with a few volunteer militia, we begin fully to com- 
prehend the greatness of the victory, which indeed was the Bunker 
Hill of the South. The loss of the British was two hundred and 
twenty-two, that of the Americans thirty-two. The. fort was subse- 
quently called Fort Moultrie, in honor of Colonel Moultrie, who 
commanded at the island during the battle. General Lee, who had 
posted himself nearer the city, not expecting the real struggle to 
occur at the fort, was only present once during the fight, having 
visited the island to cheer the troops. After his repulse, Sir Peter 
Parker sailed for Sandy Hook; Clinton, with his land forces accom- 
panying him : and several years elapsed before the English made a 
second assault on the South, the history of which attempt, in due 
time will form a chapter by itself. 

During the winter the public feeling in America had been growing 
more and more favorable to a total separation of the colonies from 
the mother country. Many able writers of essays and pamphlets, 
which were circulated extensively, had contributed to bring about 
this result. Among others, an Englishman named Thomas Paine, 
had rendered himself conspicuous by a pamphlet entitled " Common 
Sense," which demonstrated the benefits, practicability and necessity 
of independence, and with great vigor of language and force of 
invective, assailed monarchical governments. Congress, mean- 
time, approached nearer and nearer to independence, by passing 
laws more and more irreconcilable with allegiance. Thus, in May, 
reprisals were authorized, and the American ports opened to the 
whole world except England. At last, on the 7th of June, Richard 
Henry Lee, one of the delegates from Virginia, submitted a resolu- 
tion in Congress declaring the colonies free and independent states. 
*A series of animated and eloquent debates ensued. The wealthy 
state of Pennsylvania long hesitated, though finally she gave her 
consent. The original draft of the memorable document, called 



60 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 




INDEPENDENCE HALL. 



the Declaration of Independence, was from the pen of Thomas Jef- 
ferson. On its adoption it was ordered to be engrossed and signed 
by every member of the Congress. The resolution in favor of inde- 
pendence was finally passed on the 2nd of July, and the form of the 
declaration agreed to on the 4th. Custom has since observed the 
latter day as a public festival, a proceeding which John Adams pro- 
phetically foretold: "I am apt to believe," he wrote to his wife, 
" that this day will be celebrated by succeeding generations as a 
great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as a day 
of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It 
ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, 
sports, guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations, from one end of this 
continent to the other, from this time forward, forevermore." 

The Declaration of Independence was hailed with general enthusi- 
asm, both in the army, and by the people at large. Men felt that 
the day of reconciliation had passed, that any compromise with 
England would have been hollow, and that the time had come to 



WASHINGTON \T NEW YORK. 



61 



throw away the scabbard, and dehide themselves no longer with 
false hopes of peace. For more than a year the provinces had vir- 
tually been in a state of independence. It was but proper, therefore 
to cast off disguise, and assume before the world the station they 
really held. If a few timorous souls drew back in terror from the 
act, and others continued to deceive themselves with idle hopes of 
a reconciliation, the great body of the people neither entertained 
such notions, nor shrank from assuming the required responsibility. 



ssOislSbSi 



mitt. 




ffiivr** 



*>.";« -t 




COJVlMirTEK PBESEKTIKG THE DECLARATION OF LVDEPENDENCE TO CONGRESS. 



The enthusiasm of the comitry was now, perhaps, at its highest 
point. Success hitherto had crowned nearly every effort of the colo- 
nists. Boston had fallen, the English were repulsed from Charleston, 
independence had been declared. But a new scene was now about 
to open. A period of disaster, and gloom, and despair, was to suc- 
ceed, ending at last in the apparently inevitable necessity of an uncon- 
ditional surrender. The dark days of the Revolution were at hand. 
As the curtain rises, the shadows lengthen. 

Meanwhile, Washington had taken up his position at New York, 
where he found that Putnam, the successor of Lee, had constructed a 



62 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

chain of works. On the 25th of June, General Howe made his expect- 
ed appearance off Sandy Hook. His brother, Admiral Howe, arrived 
at the same place on the 12th of July : and shortly alter wards Clin- 
ton joined them from the South, bringing the three thousand troops 
repulsed at Charleston. The whole force of the British army, thus 
collected off New York, was twenty-four thousand men. Before 
commencing hostilities, however, Lord Howe, as instructed by the 
ministry, addressed a circular letter to the chief magistrates of the 
colonies, acquainting them with his powers, and desiring them to 
publish the same for the information of the people. Congress, 
conscious of possessing the popular affections, treated the commis- 
sioners with contempt, by sending Howe's documents to General 
Washington, to be proclaimed to the army, and ordering them also 
to be published in the newspapers. Lord Howe, about this time, 
attempted to open a correspondence with General Washington, by 
addressing him as George Washington, Esq., but the commander-in- 
chief, determining not to compromise his own dignity, or that of 
Congress, refused to receive any letter on public business, in which 
he was not addressed by his ofhcial titles. 

Preparations were now made by the British for their long contem- 
plated assault on New York: but, prior to this, it was deemed 
advisable to dislodge the Americans from their position on Long 
Island, opposite the city. The works here consisted of a fortification 
at Brooklyn, well defended on the left by the East River, on the 
right by the bay, and behind by the harbor and Governor's Island. 
In front of this fortification was an open plain, crossed by three 
great roads diverging from Brooklyn, and passing over a chain of 
wooded hills at some distance from the town. Each of these roads 
should have been defended, at the point where it crossed the hills, 
by a sufficiently numerous detachment to keep the pass : but unfor- 
tunately the Americans were not strong enough for this, their whole 
effective force being but twenty thousand men, of which a conside- 
rable portion had to be detained within the lines, at Brooklyn, at 
New York, and in various other places. The next best thing would 
have been to have kept the main body moving in front of Brooklyn, 
as on a centre, while small parties should be sent to occupy the three 
passes through the hills, so that, on notice being received where the 
English intended to attack in force, the Americans might be precipi- 
tated on that point. But, as if fate was resolved on that day to be 
against the colonies, Gen. Greene, to whom had been confided the 
works at Brooklyn, fell sick two days before the battle. Gen. Put- 
nam was sent to occupy his place, but owing to the hurry could 



BATTLE OF LONG ISLAND. 63 

not fully make himself master of the nature of the ground in time for 
the attack. He, therefore, posted but an inconsiderable detachment 
at the eastern pass, reserving his principal force to meet the enemy 
at the central and western passes, by one of which he supposed the 
the main attack would be made. Putnam himself remained, during 
the day, within the entrenchments at Brooklyn. Sullivan had com- 
mand of all the troops without, and was posted on the plain, just 
within the central pass, where the road from Flatbush to Brooklyn 
traverses the hills. 

It was on the morning of the 28th of August, that the battle began. 
Early on the evening before. Gen. Clinton, who had been posted 
with the centre of the British army at Flatbush, discovered the 
weakness of the American forces at the eastern pass, and silently 
drew off in that direction, intending there to make the main attack. 
In the meantime, by way of a feint. General Grant, with the British 
left wing, was directed to advance against the Americans by tlie 
western pass. Accordingly, about three o'clock in the morning, he 
made the attack, which Lord Stirling, at the head of fifteen hundred 
Americans, prepared to resist. Grant, however, who had no wish to 
rout his opponent, contented himself with amusing Stirling, until he 
should hear of the success of Clinton's intended movement to get be- 
tween the main body of the Americans and Brooklyn. General de 
Heister,who commmanded the British centre, manoeuvred meanwhile 
in front of the middle pass, not wishing to advance in earnest until 
Cluiton should carry his point : but, in order to deceive, he began at 
sunrise a distant cannonade on the redoubt opposite him, where 
General Sullivan, with the main body of our troops, was stationed. 
Thus, two portions of the British army combined to amuse their 
opponents, while a third was insidiously stealing into their rear. 

Had the detachment posted to watch the eastern route been active 
and brave, no surprise would have taken place. But Clinton, 
arriving at the pass before day, captured the whole party before 
they had even suspected his approach, and immediately crossing the 
hills, he poured his splendid legions into the plain below, and began 
to interpose himself between Sullivan and Brooklyn. The \'ery 
existence of America trembled in the balance at that moment. But 
fortunately the manoeuvre of Clinton was detected before it was too 
late. Sullivan, discovering that Clinton was in his rear, began a 
retreat to the lines, but he had not retired far before he was met by 
that General, and forced back in the direction of Heister, who, as 
soon as made aware of the success of Clinton's stratagem, had 
dashed over the hills, and impetuously assailed the Americans. 



64 THE WAR OP IXDEPENDEXCE. 

Thus, tossed to and fro between two bodies of the enemy, now 
facing Heister, now retreating before Clinton, the troops under Sul- 
livan, in spite of the most desperate etlbrts, durhig which a portion 
actually cut their way through the foe, and escaped to Brooklyn, 
were finally compelled, with their leader, to lay down their arms. 
Lord Stirling, whom we left amused by Grant, was equally unfor- 
tunate. When this last officer advanced in earnest, he was taken 
prisoner with foin* hundred of his men, although not until he had 
secured the retreat of the remainder. The victorious English, 
advancing with loud huzzas across the plains, drove what was left 
of the American army within the lines, where dismay and terror 
reigned universal, for an immediate assault was expected. Had 
General Howe then yielded to the importunities of his officers, and 
led the excited soldiers to the charge, there is little doubt but that 
his victory would have been complete, and the whole American 
force on the Long Island side of the river become his prey. But 
his habitual prudence prevailing, he ordered a halt, and commenced 
leisurely to break ground in due form before the entrenchments. 
Washington availed himself of this blunder to withdraw from a posi- 
tion no longer tenable, and in the night transported his troops, their 
artillery, and all his munitions of war, in safety to New York. 

The loss of the Americans in this battle was over a thousand ; 
that of the English but three hundred and fifty. It was not only in 
its immediate effects, however, that the defeat was so disastrous ; the 
remoter results were even more injurious to the American cause. 
The battle of Long Island was the first pitched battle between the 
continental army and the British. Great, even extravagant expec- 
tations had been formed concerning the prowess of the continental 
army ; and now, with the versatility of the popular mind, despair 
succeeded to former elation. It was thought impossible for Ameri- 
can soldiers ever to be brought to face the disciplined troops of 
England. This sentiment found its way into the camp, and pro- 
duced the most alarming desertions. Added to this, the men whose 
terms began to expire, refused to re-enlist. The exertions of Wash- 
ington and Lee, however, delayed the reduction of the army for a 
while. Indeed, but for them, it would have crumbled to pieces like 
a fabric of ashes at the touch of the hand. 

A few days after the battle of Long Island, Lord Howe attempt- 
ed to open a correspondence with the American Congress, imagining 
that, in the general terror, the members would eagerly accept terms 
which they would have refused a few days before. To have 
declmed hearing him, would have looked as if that body was insin- 



WASHINGTON WITHDRAWS FROM NEW YORK. 



65 



cere in its desire to terminate the war. Accordingly, a committee 
was appointed to wait on Lord Howe. But finding that he pos- 
sessed no power to treat, but only to grant pardons. Congress refused 
to hold any further correspondence with him, and this attempt at 
reconciliation proved as abortive as former ones. 




LOKD HOWE. 



General Washington now divided his army, leaving four thousand 
five hundred men in the city of New York, and stationing six thou- 
sand five hundred at HEerlem, and twelve thousand at Kingsbridge. 
He did this in order to prepare for an event which he saw to be 
inevitable, the ultimate evacuation of New York. A body of four 
thousand men landing under Clinton at Kipp's Bay, three miles 
above the city, drove in a detachment of American troops stationed 
there. Washington hurried to the scene, and threatened to cut 
down the panic-struck soldiers, but in vain, and the affair ended in 
an inglorious flight. In consequence of this, Washington withdrew 
from New York entirely, contenting himself with occupying the 
9 r* 



66 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

neighboring heights. The retreat was effected in good order, chiefly 
under the direction of Putnam. 

General Washington now strove to accustom his troops to face 
the enemy, by engaging them in a succession of skirmishes. In 
one of these affairs, on the 1 6th of September, the Americans gained 
some advantages ; but they had to mourn the loss of Colonel 
Knowlton and Major Leitch, two valuable officers. At last Wash- 
ington found it necessary to retreat from York Island, as he had 
already done from the city of New York. He fell back, accordingly, 
to White Plains, evacuating all his posts on the island except Fort 
Washington, at the upper end, where a garrison of three thousand 
men was left, it being vainly supposed that this stronghold, with 
that of Fort Lee, on the opposite side of the Hudson, would enable 
the Americans to retain the command of the river. 

As fast as Washington retired, the royal army pursued, until the 
former came to a stand at White Plains, where he threw up 
entrenchments. Here he was attacked by Howe, on the 2Sth of Octo- 
ber, and an action ensued, in which several hundreds fell : among 
these was the brave Colonel Smallwood, whose regiment, at Long 
Island, had borne the brunt of the fight. In consequence of this 
action, Washington took up a new and stronger position, with his 
right wing resting on some hills. On the 30th, Howe, who had 
meantime waited for his rear to come up, prepared to renew his 
attack ; but a violent storm arising, he was forced to forego his 
purpose. Washington now changed his station again, withdrawing 
to North Castle, about five miles from White Plains, where he took 
up a position nearly, if not quite impregnable. Thus finding the 
prey escaped, which he had flattered himself was within his grasp, 
Howe changed his plan of operations, and determined to retrace his 
steps, and reduce Fort Washington, in his rear. The American 
General, learning this purpose, left Lee at North Castle Avith a por- 
tion of his force, and hastened to Fort Lee, opposite the threatened 
post, to watch his enemy. 

At first it was suggested that Fort Washington should be aban- 
doned ; but this counsel being overruled. Colonel Magaw, with a 
garrison of nearly three thousand men, was left to defend the place. 
On the 16th of November, the British advanced to the assault, after 
having summoned the post and been defied. The attack was vehe- 
ment and irresistible. The Americans were driven from the outer 
works, and finally forced to surrender as prisoners of war. The loss 
of the English, however, was severe, they suftering in round num- 
bers not less than eight hundred. But this did not compensate the 



DESPONDENCY OF THE AMERICANS. 67 

Americans for the capture of over two thousand of their best troops, 
and the moral etiect of so terrible a disaster following on the heels 
of that of Long Island. The attempt to hold the fort was a mistake, 
for which General Greene is principally chargeable. In consequence 
of its fall, Fort Lee, on the opposite side of the Hudson, had to be 
evacuated. This was done in the most gallant style. General Greene 
fully redeeming his late blunder, by bringing off the army in safety, 
although Cornwallis, with six thousand victorious troops, was thmi- 
dering in his rear. The retreat, however, had to be effected in such 
haste as to render a sacrifice of a vast quantity of artillery and mili- 
tary stores indispensable; Greene having barely time to escape with 
his men the moment he heard of the loss of Fort Washington, and 
that Cornwallis had crossed the Hudson. 

These successive disasters, following one upon another, reduced 
the American cause to the very verge of ruin. From the period tlie 
British had landed on Long Island, a series of misfortunes had pur- 
sued the army of Washington. Every day had seen his troops re- 
tiring before those of the enemy ; every hour had beheld his force 
dwindling down ; every moment had witnessed the increasing 
despondency of the friends of liberty, both within and without the 
camp. The terms of large numbers of the men were now expiring, 
and the consequences of these disasters begun to be felt. Few 
would re-enlist. The enthusiasm which had first called them from 
their homes had begun to subside under the privations of a camp, 
and had now been completely dissipated by misfortune. The cause 
of America was generally regarded as lost. This feeling of des- 
pair even spread among the officers, and it required all Washington's 
firmness of mind to check its progress. But with the common men 
nothing could be done to check the panic. In vain did Congress 
endeavor to supply the places of those who retired, by new recruits. 
Even a bounty of twenty dollars to each private who would engage 
for the war, failed to hasten enlistments : and though the offer was 
subsequently made to all who would contract for three years, it 
proved equally inoperative. 

The army of Washington by these causes : by loss in battle, by 
desertion, by the capture of Fort Washington, and by the expiration 
of enlistments, had now sunk to little over three thousand men. The 
British, aware of his weakness, and convinced that a few decisive 
blows would finish the war forever, resolved not to go into winter 
quarters, but to follow up their successes by the pursuit and anni- 
hilation of the small force remaining in arms under Washing- 
ton. Accordingly, they pushed on to Newark, in New Jersey, 



68 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 



whither the American commander had retired. At this, Washing- 
ton fell back to New Brunswick. But tlie enemy still followed. 
As a last refuge he hurried to place the Delaware between him and 
his foe. On the 8th of December, he reached that river and retired 
across it, destroying the bridges, and removing all the boats, to 
secure his retreat. Scarcely had his rear gained the welcome right 
bank, than the English appeared on the left, but finding no means 
of crossing, they fell back in chagrm. 




RETREAT OF THE AMERICAN ARIIV TIIROUGH NEW JERSEY. 



To add to the despondency of the times, the news was received, 
about this period, of the capture of General Lee, who had been tar- 
dily approaching Washington, in order to effect a junction. Lee 
had incautiously spent the night three miles from his forces, with 
but a small guard in attendance, when an English cavalry officer, 
hearing by accident of his unprotected situation, by a bold dash 
secured the valuable prize. As Lee was second in command in the 
army, and as the country entertained a high opinion of his abilities, 
his loss, at this critical moment, struck the last prop from the hopes 
of the patriots, and induced almost universal despair. 

Indeed, there was no longer any rational prospect of success on 
the part of the Americans. Heaven and earth seemed to have con- 
spired against their cause : and to have removed from it the counte- 
nance of man and God alike. Their best Generals were prisoners : 
their most wisely concerted plans had failed, almost as if by the 
direct interposition of fate ; and that popular enthusiasm, which had 



WASHINGTON RESOLVES TO RE-CROSS THE DELAWARE. 69 

been relied on as the support of the cause, and which at first had 
promised to sweep away all opposition before its resistless wave, 
had now subsided and left the country a wreck, high and dry on 
the shore. With three thousand men, Washington occupied the 
Delaware, while the British, with twenty thousand, swarmed over 
the Jerseys in pursuit. Already Philadelphia was threatened, and 
the most sanguine thought its capture could not be delayed a month. 
Congress had fled to Baltimore. Terror, panic, despair, and a self- 
ish desire to save themselves, began to affect even the best patriots. 
The clouds stooped low and black, and the tempest hurtled around 
every man's home. 

To add to the awful gloom of the crisis, HoAve now issued a pro- 
clamation, ofl'ering a pardon to all who would lay down their arms 
and take the oath of allegiance, within sixty days. Instpaitly, hun- 
dreds grasped at what they deemed a fortunate chance of escape : 
former professions were forgotten in present panic : and throughout 
New Jersey and Pennsylvania, the most alarming defections, even 
among leaders in the popular cause, daily occurred. The loyalists, 
who had been heretofore overawed, now vented their long concealed 
rage : plunder, insult, and oppression became the daily lot of the 
suffering patriots. Almost alone, beneath this driving storm, 
Washington stood up erect and unappalled. For one moment his 
constancy did not forsake him. He was, in that awful hour, the 
Achilles and Atlas of the cause. No hint of submission ever 
crossed his lips : no word of despondency or doubt was heard. His 
unshaken front inspired Congress anew, warmed the drooping enthu- 
siasm of his army, and finally enabled him to deal a blow which 
rescued the country at the very instant of ruin, and sent his late tri- 
umphant foe reeling back Avith defeat. Like a wrestler, almost 
overcome in a struggle, and whom his antagonist thinks about to 
succumb, but who, rallying all his strength for a last effort, suddenly 
throws his astonished opponent, so, Washington, defeated and pros- 
trated, all at once started to his feet, and with one gigantic and 
desperate strain, hurled his enemy to the ground, stunned, bleeding, 
and utterly discomfited. 

The English, after the retreat of Washington across the Delaware, 
had distributed themselves in cantonments on the New Jersey side, 
occupying Trenton, Princeton, Burlington, Mount Holly, and vari- 
ous other posts. Flushed with victory, and fancying their enemy 
completely disheartened, they gave themselves up to ease and care- 
lessness. The watchful eye of Washington saw the inviting oppor- 
tunity to strike a blow. He knew that, without some speedy and 



JO 



THE WAR OP IXDEPEXDENCE. 



brilliant success on his part, the cause of America was lost. It wa§ 
better to hazard all on one die, than to lose the present precious 
opportunity which might never return. Accordingly, he resolved to 
re-cross the river and surprise the enemy, if possible, at one or more 
of his posts. The night of the 25th of December, was chosen for the 
purpose, as on that festival day the foe, little dreaming an enemy 




BATTLE OF TRENTON. 



was near, Avould probably give himself up to license and merriment. 
On that night, therefore, Washington crossed the Delaware at 
McConkey's Ferry, nine miles above Trenton. General Cadwalader 
was to have etfected a landing opposite Bristol, and General Irvine 
was to have transported his troops at Trenton Ferry ; but both 
failed in consequence of the river being full of driving ice : nor 
did Washington himself effect his crossing until four o'clock, and 
after incredible efforts. Once on the Jersey shore, however, he 
lost no time. Dividing his troops into two divisions, he sent one 
along the river road, while the other, accompanied by himself, took 
the upper or Pennington route. The night was bitterly cold, and 
the snow fell fast ; but the troops, animated by the same hope as 
their leader, pressed eagerly forward. The light was just breaking 
when, at eight o'clock in the morning, they drove in the outposts of 
the Hessians. The enemy, suddenly aroused from their beds or 
from the taverns where they had spent the night in drinking, seized 
their arms, rushed out, and made a show of resistance, their com- 
mander, Col. Rahl, gallantly leading them, until he fell mortally 



THE BATTLE OF TRENTON. 



71 



wounded. The Hessians now fled rapidly down tlie village. At 
this juncture, the other detachment of the Americans, which, follow- 
ing the river road, had entered the town at its lower extremity, was 
heard firing through the tempest, and the panic-struck Hessians, 
now enclosed between two forces, were speedily compelled to lay 
down their arms. Only a few cavalry of the enemy escaped. One 
thousand prisoners were taken, besides as many stand of arms, and 
six field pieces. Had the detachments of Cadwalader and Irvine 
been able to cross as projected, the twenty-five hundred of the 
enemy at Bordentown, Mount Holly, and the White Horse, would 
likewise have been captured, and the whole British force in that 
section of New Jersey prostrated at a blow. , 

As it was, this bold incursion struck terror to the heart of the 
English army. Cornwallis, Avho had gone to New York in 
order to embark for England, retraced his steps, and once more 
assumed command of the forces near the Delaware. His first 
movement was to withdraw all his troops from the more exposed 
posts, and concentrate them at Princeton and towards New Brims- 
wick. Thus the English army stood in attitude of defence like a 
boxer just recovered from a staggering blow. 





BOOK III. 



TO THE ALLIANCE WITH FRANCE. 




HE late disasters to the American cause 
had resulted principally from the want 
of a proper organization of the army. 
Had Congress listened to the remon- 
strances of Washington, and, taking 
advantage of the popular enthusiasm 
after the battle of Bunker Hill, enlisted 
recruits for the war, a force of thirty 
thousand men could easily have been procured, not liable to be dis- 
solved by reverses, or by the abatement of the momentary excite- 
ment. The army would have been composed of disciplined and 
veteran soldiers, who could have been relied on in every emergency : 
whereas now it was made up chiefly of six or twelve months 
militia, with whom a general could not venture on any delicate 
manoeuvre in the crisis of battle. All the disasters following the con 
10 G ■ 73 



74 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

test on Long Island may be traced to the neglect of this advice of 
Washington. 

It was in the very darkest hour of the Revolution, just before the 
surprise at Trenton, that Congress awoke to a sense of its mistake, 
and endeavored to redeem the cause by appointing Washington 
dictator for six months, giving him power to remove all officers 
beneath the rank of brigadier. Meantime to prove that submission 
was still far from its thoughts, it instructed the commissioners in 
Europe, Dr. Franklin and Silas Deane, to renew their protestations 
at the courts of France and Spain, and to assure those powers that 
the colonies, notwithstanding their late defeats, would continue the 
war at all hazards. The commissioners were also instructed to en- 
deavor to draw his most Christian Majesty into the war by the most 
liberal promises. Half the island and fisheries of New Found- 
land were offered as a bribe, and afterwards, all the possessions in 
the West Indies that might be conquered during the contest. Agents 
were also sent with representations to the courts of Berlin, Tuscany 
and Vienna. The choice of Dr. Franklin as one of the deputies 
abroad was a happy thought : his reputation for science, his philoso- 
phic character, his simple mode of life, and his venerable age made 
him the fashion in Paris ; and assisted, not a little, in bringing about 
the subsequent treaty of amity with the Court of France. 

Meantime Washington resolved to follow up the surprise at Tren- 
ton with another blow. He had, on the evening of the victory, 
retired across the Delaware. His prisoners, the next day, were 
marched ostentatiously through Philadelphia, in order to raise the 
drooping spirits of the citizens. Having done this^ he re-crossed, in 
the course of a few days, to Trenton, intending to act in the offen- 
sive. The British, in the interval, had concentrated at Princeton ; 
but Cornwallis, receiving intelligence of Washington's return to New 
Jersey moved on Trenton, where he arrived on the morning of the 
2nd of January, 1777, leaving his rear guard at Maidenhead, a vil- 
lage half way between Princeton and Trenton. Washington, finding 
Cornwallis in such force, retired across the Assunpink creek, which 
skirts the southern extremity of tlie town of Trenton, having first se- 
cured the bridge. The British, on this, attempted to pass the stream, 
but were thrice repulsed. A cannonade, on both sides, was kept 
up until dark, when a council was called in the American camp. 
The peril of the little army was imminent. To wait the event of 
the next day's battle, against the overwhelming force of Cornwallis, 
was to ensure destruction : to retire across the Delaware, encumbered 
v.'ith floating ice, in face ,of a wary foe, was equally perilous. In 



BATTLE OF PRINCETON. 7o 

this emergency, the bold design was adopted of falling on the 
enemy's line of communications, and thus carrying the war into the 
very heart of New Jersey. 

Accordingly, in the night, the regular fires being kept up, and 
sentinels posted, the army of Washington silently withdrew from 
the Assunpink, and taking a circuitous route to avoid Maidenhead, 
before morning was far on its way to Princeton. Here it fell in 
with two British regiments, when a sharp action ensued. The 
enemy fought with desperate resolution, thinking themselves sur- 
rounded, with no hope of escape. At last, the American militia 
wavered. Washington, on this, seizing a standard, galloped in front 
of his men, exposing his person to the fire of both armies. The 
example was electric. The retreating militia, opportunely succored 
by the veterans of Trenton, now returned to the charge, and the day 
was won. In this affair, General Mercer was mortally wounded. 
About one hundred of the enemy were slain, and three hundred 
taken prisoners. The Americans lost in all one hundred. A part 
of one of the British regiments escaped to Maidenhead ; the other 
retired to New Brunswick. 

Cornwallis, at early dawn, was awakened by the noise of firing 
in the direction of Princeton. Discovering that the enemy was no 
longer in his front, he instantly divined the stratagem of Washington, 
and ordered his troops to march with all haste in pursuit, alarmed 
for his communications. He used such expedition, that he arrived 
at Princeton almost as soon as the American rear-guard. Washing- 
ton now found himself again in imminent peril. Unable to compete 
with the forces of Cornwallis, no resource was left but a hasty 
retreat. Instead of retracing his steps, however, he pushed on to the 
Raritan. Cornwallis followed. Washington, finding his troops too 
few and feeble to maintain the war at present, retired to the hilly 
country of upper New Jersey, and took post at Morristown. On 
this, Cornwallis abandoned the pursuit and returned to New Bruns- 
wick, where he found his subordinate. General Matthews, removing 
in terror the baggage and stores. In a few days, Washington, 
receiving some slight accessions of strength, descended into the open 
country, where he so judiciously manceuvred as, in a little time, to 
command the whole coast in front of Staten Island. Thus, the 
British army, after having overrun all New Jersey, now found itself, 
in face of an inferior foe, restricted to the two posts of New Bruns- 
wick and Amboy, besides being cut off from all communication with 
New York, except by sea. 

This brilliant winter campaign changed the whole aspect of the 



73 



THE WAR OF INPEPENDENCE. 



contest. The patriots recovered their hopes and their enthusiasm: 
the indifferent and timorous came out openly on the side of the coim- 




LOKD CORNWALLIS. 



try: and the loyalists, lately so elated, began to despond. Another 
fact added to the revulsion in popular feeling. The Hessians had 
signalized their supremacy in New Jersey by the greatest excesses, 
so that even many of the loyal inhabitants had become exasperated. 
From this period to the end of the conflict the people of New Jersey, 
at first comparatively lukewarm in the cause, were distinguished as 
the most earnest and decided supporters of the war. The epoch of 
the battle of Trenton marked the turning point of the contest. The 
fortunes of the colonists had then reached their lowest ebb. After 
that period, though the cause fluctuated continually, there was, on 
the whole, a perceptible gain. The waves flowed and retreated ; 
but the tide steadily advanced. 



WASHINGTON AT MIDDLEBROOK. 77 

The spring of 1777, opened with favorable omens to the Ameri- 
cans ; for, as the mild weather advanced, recruits began to flock to 
Washington's camp. Howe, meantime, diverted his troops by 
attacking Peekskill, on the Hudson, and Danbury, in Connecticut, 
for the purpose of destroying stores : in both of these expeditions, he 
was comparatively successful. The Americans retorted by a descent 
on Sagg Harbor, where they burned a dozen British ships and took 
many prisoners. As yet the American General had not been able 
to penetrate the plans of his opponent for the ensuing campaign. 
One opinion was, that the British leader intended renewing his 
designs on Philadelphia : another, and to this Washington leaned, 
that he projected an ascent of the Hudson, to form a jmiction 
with Burgoyne, who was about to lead the contemplated expe- 
dition from Canada. This latter was certainly the true policy. 
By seizing the Hudson, and uniting with Burgoyne at Albany, 
(ir above that place, Howe would have cut off the middle and 
southern states from New England ; and the prospect of ultimate 
success for the Americans, would in consequence have been greatly 
decreased. To be ready, however, for either movement on the part 
of Howe, Washington stationed a portion of his troops at Peekskill, 
posting the remainder in New Jersey. In this maimer, if Howe 
moved on Philadelphia, he would find in front the forces of New 
Jersey, while those at Peekskill would descend and harass his right 
tianl<: : if, on the other hand, he took the direction of Albany, the 
troops at Peekskill would be in front, and those of New Jersey on 
the dank. As a further resource, a camp for recruits was formed at 
Philadelphia, which, in an emergency, might furnish resources. 
Having made these admirable dispositions, Washington waited for 
Howe to take the initiative. 

The British General had been recommended by the ministry to 
ascend the Hudson and form a junction with Burgoyne : but Howe, 
exercising his discretion, determined to advance on Philadelphia 
instead. He thought it certain that Washington would hazard a 
battle, or retire ; in either case he felt sure of his prey. The capture 
of the capital, he hoped, would end the war, of which he would 
then reap all the renown. Accordingly he made demonstrations of 
marching on the Delaware. Washington, however, contrary to 
Howe's expectation, neither descended into the plains to give battle, 
nor hurried to the defence of Philadelphia ; but maintaining his old 
position on the heights of Middlebrook, prepared to cut off Howe's 
communications. The British General accordingly retraced his steps, 
and began a series of manoBuvres to draw Washington from his 

G* 



78 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

position. Once he had nearly succeeded. Having made a pretence 
of retiring from Amboy to Staten Island, Washington fancied he was 
really about to retreat, and descended to assail him. Instantly 
a detachment imder Cornwallis was sent to seize the late position of 
the Americans; but Washington, timely informed of his error, hastened 
to retrace his steps, and reached his old camp in safety. 

Thus foiled, Howe resolved to abandon the idea of crossing New 
Jersey, and embarking his troops, to reach Philadelphia by sea. 
But, hoping to deceive Washington as to his real intentions, he 
feigned an invasion up the Hudson. Intelligence had just been 
received of the advance of Burgoyne to Ticonderoga, and speedily 
after of the fall of that place : so that, for a while, Washington gave 
credit to the supposed co-operation. In a few days, however, his 
sagacious mind penetrated the cheat ; when, dividing his array into 
several corps, he prepared to march at a moment's warning on the 
Delaware. He sent Congress word of the contemplated attack ; 
exhorted the proper authorities of Pennsylvania, Delaware and New 
Jersey to collect militia near the threatened points ; and ordered 
watches to be kept at the capes of Delaware, to give early intimation 
of the appearance of the English fleet. On the 23rd of July 
the royal squadron and transports sailed from Sandy Hook. 
Washington, however, lest he should yet be made the victim of 
a stratagem, did not abandon his position in East Jersey. For 
a time, too, the news received of the enemy's fleet was extremely 
conflicting. At first the ships were seen near the capes of Delaware, 
steering eastward : this alarmed Washington for the banks of the 
Hudson. Then they appeared again at the entrance of Delaware 
bay, but immediately vanished to the south : this inspired fears lest 
they should have gone to the Carolinas. At last intelligence was 
obtained of the arrival of the squadron in the Chesapeake : this set- 
tled all doubts ; and hastily collecting his various corps, Washington 
advanced by quick marches to oppose the enemy at his landing. A 
month, however, had been wasted in these manoeuvres ; and it was 
the last of August before the English disembarked, which they did 
at the head of Elk river, in Maryland. The whole contment now 
stood gazing in silent awe as the two armies approached each other. 
A battle was inevitable. The destiny of America might hang on 
the result. 

While these events were transacting, two incidents happened in 
other quarters, Avhich we must pause to relate. General Sullivan, 
at the head of fifteen hundred American troops, made an attack on 
Staten Island ; and though at first successful, was finally repulsed 



BATTLE OF BRANDYWIXE. 79 

with heavy loss. The other occurrence was the capture of Major 
General Prevost, commandmg the seven battahons of En^Hsh 
troops which occupied Rhode Island. This officer slept at a farm- 
house not far from Narragansett Bay. At the dead of night he was 
taken out of his bed, by Lieut. Col. Barton, at the head of forty men, 
and being carried to the whale-boats in which the party descended, 
was securely carried off. This bold exploit filled the country with 
applause, particularly as it afforded the Americans an officer of 
equal rank to exchange for General Lee. 

About the same period, the Marquis La Fayette arrived at Phila- 
delphia. He came to join the American cause as a volunteer. 
"Very rich, of high rank, and supposed to have influence at the Court 
of Versailles, his appearance was hailed as an omen of an approach- 
ing alliance with France. He became a favorite with Washington, 
who saw in his enthusiasm, in his refusal to accept pay, and in the 
fact that he had torn himself from the arms of a young and lovely 
wife, powerful reasons for regard and affection. Nor to the close 
of life, was there any diminution of the mutual love and friendship 
of the two heroes. 

Wlien Washington arrived in the vicinity of the Chesapeake, he 
discovered that the British had already effected a landing. After 
some manoeuvres, he took post behind the Brandywine, at a spot 
called Chad's Ford, and prepared to dispute the passage of the 
enemy ; Congress and the public loudly demanding a battle to save 
Philadelphia. On the 1 1th of September the British advanced to the 
attack. The country in the vicinity of Chad's is imdulating, and about 
six miles above the ford, the river divides into two forks. Howe 
resolved to leave Knyphausen with a portion of the army to make 
a feint of assailing the Americans in front, at the ford ; while, with 
a much stronger body, he and Cornwallis gained the rear of Wash- 
ington by crossing the Brandywine higher up. The stratagem was 
eminently successful. The British passed the Brandywine above 
the forks, without the knowledge of the Americans ; the videttes of 
the latter not being pushed so far, and the country people being too 
disaffected to give warning. Meantime, Knyphausen began to make 
repeated feints to attempt the passage at Chad's Ford. He first 
advanced his marksmen across the river, but the Americans forcing 
them back, he opened a furious cannonade, and made dispositions as 
if about to attack with all his troops. In this mamier the morning 
passed. Washington was preparing to cross the river, and assail 
Knyphausen, when, about noon, he received intelligence that Corn- 
wallis had crossed the Brandywine, and was coming down in liis 



80 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 



rear. Already, in fact, long columns of dust, winding in serpentine 
course among the distant hills, announced his route. 

The moment was critical. Washington, if he disregarded the enemy 
in his rear, might precipitate himself on Knyphausen in front ; but, 
by such a movement, he would abandon the right bank of the 
Brandywine to Cornwallis, and throw open the route to Philadel- 
phia. No resource, therefore, was left but to turn and face the 
Marquis. Accordingly Washington wheeled the brigades of Sullivan, 
Stephens and Stirling to oppose Cornwallis, who was said to be 
approaching Birmingham meeting-house, two miles in the rear. 
Then, leaving Wayne with a strong corps at Chad's Ford, he him- 
self, with two divisions, accompanied by General Greene, took a 
position half way between Chad's Ford and the meeting-house, to 
be ready to assist either wing as occasion might require. Having 
done this, he waited anxiously for the result. 




5^^^^. .V. ^^^^'"^^t;r:o^^»^vr ., 



«=»5-~5j<^\NN 



■>»f3^ 



^- vN^rWi ^f^^--^ ' 



BIUMIXOIIAM MEUTIXn-ItOUSE 



When Sullivan, with his three divisions, reached Birmingham 
meeting-house, he found Cornwallis drawn up on the declivity of a 



BATTLE OF BRANDY WINE, 81 

lofty eminence opposite, the scarlet uniforms of his troops relieving 
the deep green of the hill-side, on which they swarmed, as a specta- 
tor has written, like bees. The British army had just fmished its 
noontide meal, and as Sullivan's corps came in sight, the blare of 
trumpets sounded along the line, and the whole of that splendid 
army put itself into motion. The distance from the summit of the 
hill on which the meeting-house stands, to the top of the neighbor- 
ing elevation, following the descent into the valley, and the opposite 
rise, is nearly a mile ; so that some time necessarily elapsed before 
the British troops came within range. During this period the 
spectacle they presented, as they slowly descended one hill and 
began to ascend the other, was truly magnificetit. They moved in 
a solid mass, forming a compact and extended front, along which 
ran the glitter of their polished arms, and over which their banners 
floated lazily in the sultry breeze. The action began on the American 
right, and soon extended along the whole line. Both wings speedily 
gave way, the disorder beginning on the right. Sullivan's own divi- 
sion breaking, he hurried, flushed and excited, to animate the centre. 
With this the contest was longer and fiercer. Occupying the low stone 
wall of the grave-yard which crowns Birmingham hill, the Americans 
poured in a steady fire on the advancing foe ; but fresh troops dashing 
up the hill, and the victorious British hastening from the rout of the 
other divisions, to turn their flank, they were forced to retreat. The 
English now poured densely over the brow of the hill. The Ameri- 
cans fled through an orchard in their rear, where the carnage was 
dreadful. The retreat might have become a rout, but for the arrival 
of Greene, who opening his columns to suffer the fugitives to pass, 
closed up immediately after, and continued to face the foe. 

In the meantime Knyphausen, finding the enemy in his front 
weakened, forded the river and advanced to attack Wayne. After 
a brave resistance the latter fell back, leaving his artillery in the 
hands of the enemy. In his retreat he passed in the rear of Greene, 
who, posted in a defile between two woods, ploughed the enemy's 
advancing columns with artillery, and was the last to retire. The 
army fell back to Chester, where, for a whole day, fugitives con- 
tinued arriving, many having escaped by lanes and circuitous ways. 
The British spent the night on the battle-field. The loss of the 
Americans was over a thousand ; that of their opponents less than 
five hundred. In this conflict the Virginians and Pennsylvanians 
fought with particular intrepidity ; and Count Pulaski, a Pole, at 
the head of the light-horse, charged in the most gallant manner. 

11 



82 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 



Here La Fayette saw his firs^engagement, and received a wound 
in his leg. Tlie defeat may be attributed to ignorance of the move- 
ments of CornwaUis, arising chiefly from the want of a suflicient 
number of well mounted videttes. 

The news of this disaster was received with various emotions in 
Philadelphia. The disaffected openly rejoiced : the patriots were 
struck with consternation. Congress, however, remained firm. That 
body voted reinforcements to Washington, who, after a few days 
repose for his troops, took the field again to seek another encounter 
with the enemy. The two armies came in sight of each other on 
the 16th, on the Lancaster road, a few miles from Philadelphia ; but 
a heavy rain beginning to fall, the American muskets were rendered 
useless and much of their ammunition was spoiled. Washington 
was compelled, by this accident, to retreat to Yellow Springs, and 
thence to Warwick Furnace, on French creek. He sent Wayne, 
however, to harass the march of Howe. But a detachment of British 
troops, led by General Grey, surprised this General in the night, 
and he only escaped with the loss of one hundred and fifty men. 
This is the affair usually known as the Paoli massacre. Howe now 
advanced on Philadelphia, by the way of Germantown, Congress 
adjourning on his approach to the town of York in Pennsylvania ; 
and on the 26th of September, Lord CornwaUis, with the van of the 
British army, marched into the capital, to the great joy of the disaf- 
fected. The rest of the English force, however, remained encamped 
at Germantown, six miles from the city. Washington took post at 
Skippack creek, about fourteen miles distant. 

The first object of Howe, on finding himself in possession of Phi- 
ladelphia, was to subdue the forts commanding the Delaware below 
that city, and to remove the obstructions with which the Americans 
had filled the river. The forces detached for this purpose necessarily 
weakened the army at Germantown. Aware of this, Washington 
resolved to attempt surprising it. The village of Germantown is 
built on a single street, occupying both sides of the road for about 
two miles. The English army lay very nearly in the centre of the 
town, being encamped behind a lane that crosses the street at right 
angles in the vicinity of the market place. About a mile from this 
spot, and at the head of the village, is a large stone house known as 
Chew's mansion. More than a mile higher up is Mount Airy, 
where the English had a picket guard. It was about dawn on the 
morning of the 4th of October when Washington drove in this picket, 
and pushing on, dashed for the centre of the town. Sullivan, com- 
manding the right wing, marched through the fields to the right of 



BATTLE OF GERMANTOWIf. 83 

the village street; Wayne, leading another division, passed to the left ; 
and Greene, with a strong corps, making a circuit on the left of 
Wayne, followed a road which entered the town just below the 
market place. The morning was foggy, so that the soldiers could see 
but a few paces before them. At first this favored the attack ; and 
the British fell back hurriedly and in affright. Sullivan, advancing 
with headlong speed, soon reached the centre of the town. Here all 
was in comparative confusion on the part of the enerny. The ]5ritisli 
troops, hastily aroused, were forming in the lane in front of their 
encampment, Howe, imagining himself surrounded, was gallopping 
bewildered to the point of danger: while the wildest rumors circu- 
lated among the soldiers, and even struck dismay to the hearts of 
their officers. Victory seemed in Sullivan's grasp. Suddenly a 
sharp firing was heard in his rear, when a voice among his soldiers 
exclaimed, that the British had cut them off; and at the same 
moment troops were seen advancing through the fog in front, their 
numbers magnified by the obscurity. A panic instantly ensued. 
Cries of alarm were heard on all sides. In vain Sullivan, riding 
among the men, assured them that the troops in front were a part 
of Greene's division : in vain couriers arrived to say that the firing 
behind arose from only a small party of the English who had throwr; 
themselves into Chew's house : in vain the officers, ready to break 
their swords in mortification and rage, declared to the soldiers that 
they were running away from victory. Nothing could allay the 
panic. The men broke and tied. The British, by this time par- 
tially recovering from their alarm, seized the favorable moment and 
advanced with loud huzzas. The retreat became a rout. The enemy 
kept up a hot pursuit, and the American army was only saved by 
the timely thought of General Wayne, who, throwing up a hasty 
battery at White Marsh church, arrested the chase after it had con- 
tinued seven miles. In this battle the loss of the Americans was 
about nine hundred ; that of the British six hundred. Although 
resulting in defeat, it had some of the advantages of a victory; for it 
induced Howe to withdraw most of his forces into Philadelphia. 
Washington retired to his old station at Skippack. 

Meantime Howe proceeded to the removal of the obstructions in 
the river Delaware, and to the reduction of the two forts which the 
Americans had erected immediately below Philadelphia. One of 
these. Fort Mifflin, was situated on the left bank of the Delaware at 
the confluence of the Schuylkill with the latter river : the other, 
Fort Mercer, occupied a bold bluff" on the opposite shore, called Red 
Bank. On the 22nd of October the latter was assailed, by a com- 



84 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 




BATTLE OF RED BANK. 



bined attack from land and water. Count Donop, with twelve hun- 
dred men, advanced to storm the fort, which was defended by only 
five hundred troops ; but was repulsed with a loss of four hundred, 
himself being mortally wounded. The Americans lost but thirty -two. 
The attack from the water was equally disastrous to the enemy, he 
losing in addition two of his frigates. The attempt to reduce Fort 
Mifflin was more successful, though not until after nearly a month's 
delay. On the 16th of November, the fort being no longer tenable, 
its little garrison of three hundred went over to Red Bank. This 
post, also, was soon after abandoned. 

Washington, receiving some reinforcements, left Skippack and 
took up a position at White Marsh, fourteen miles nearer Philadel- 
phia. His army was now fourteen thousand strong : and that of 
Howe was about the same number. But the latter, in discipline, 
equipments and materal, was infinitely superior. The two armies 
watched each other for some time, but Washington was not willing 
to risk an engagement on equal terms ; and Howe, with his usual 
prudence, shrunk from assailing the American General in his strong 
position. Finally Washington went into winter quarters, selecting 
for the purpose a spot called Valley Forge, a wide ravine on elevated 
ground, about sixteen miles from Philadelphia. The privations 
which he and his little army suffered there we shall describe here- 



FALL OF TICONDEROGA. 85 

after. In the meantime, after premising that Howe had gained little 
by the campaign except a change of quarters from New York to 
Philadelphia, let us turn to the north, where the most signal success 
had just crowned the American arms, and where the inhabitants, 
lately overcome by despair, were now dizzy with exultation. 

It had been a favorite scheme with the British ministry, from the 
beginning of the war, to invade the colonies from Canada, and by 
forming a line of posts along the Hudson, to cut off New England 
from the middle and southern provinces. It was in the New En- 
gland states that the soul and strength of the rebellion was supposed 
to be : these colonies once overrun, the subjugation of the remain- 
ing, it was considered, would be easy. Accordingly, at the begin- 
ning of the year 1777, preparations were made for this invasion. A 
force of seven thousand men was raised, which General Burgoyne 
was selected to command. He was regarded as an officer of ability, 
having served with distinction in the continental wars : and he was 
not sparing of promises. The ministry were generous to a fault in 
supplying him with everything he asked. The plan of the cam- 
paign was arranged in London. Burgoyne, with seven thousand 
men, and the most splendid train of artillery ever seen in America, 
was to advance on Albany by way of Lake Champlain : while 
Colonel St. Leger, with two hundred regulars, a regiment of loyal- 
ists, and a large force of Indians was to penetrate to the same place 
by the route of lake Ontario and the Mohawk. As we have before 
intimated, General Howe was recommended to form a junction at 
the same place with Burgoyne and St. Leger ; but a discretionary 
power being left him, he exercised it, as we have seen, by attacking 
Philadelphia. 

The news of this contemplated invasion spread terror and alarm 
throughout all the eastern states, but especially on the frontiers, and 
in the fertile valleys of New York. General Schuyler, having the 
chief command in the northern department, exerted himself promptly 
and vigorously in this emergency ; but recruits came in slowly, and 
not in sufficient numbers for the crisis. His head quarters were fixed 
at Stillwater, where he labored to prepare means of resistance ; 
while to General St. Clair was deputed the command of Fort Ticon- 
deroga, where the first onset of the enemy was expected. On the 
2nd of July, Burgoyne, having ascended lake Champlain, made his 
appearance before this fortress, which he proceeded to invest, seizing 
and erecting batteries on Sugar Hill, an eminence overlooking the 
works. St. Clair was not prepared for the appearance of so large a 
force, nor had he supposed the height in question could be occupied ; 



86 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

accordingly he called a council of war, in which it was resolved that 
the fort was no longer tenable, and that it should be evacuated. On 
the night of the 5th, the garrison, taking with them provisions for 
eight days, stealthily abandoned the place •, but a house accidentally 
taking fire, when the rear guard was about to leave, lit up the land- 
scape with the glare of day, and revealed the flight of the Americans. 
Instantly the British army was aroused, and a fierce pursuit began. 
At Skeensborough the English gun-boats overtook the American 
galleys and batteaux ; the former were captured ; but most of the 
latter achieved their escape. The van of the enemy came up with 
the American rear on the morning of the 7th, when a bloody con- 
flict began, maintained on the one side with the obstinacy of des- 
pair, on the other with the eagerness of victory. At last, the British 
being reinforced, the Americans gave way. In this sanguinary 
contest the latter lost about four hundred, killed and prisoners, with 
five hundred wounded, of whom many afterwards perished mise- 
rably in the woods for want of succor. The British lost less than 
two hundred. Of a thousand men, who composed his corps, War- 
ner reached the main army some days after with but ninety. St. 
Clair, with the body of the army, thus saved by tbe devotion of his 
rear-guard, after seven days of toil and exposure in the wilderness, 
reached Fort Edward, on the Hudson. 

Schuyler was already at this latter place, and busied himself im- 
mediately in preparations to retard the victorious enemy. He 
ordered trenches to be cut, the bridges to be broken down, and the 
defiles where Burgoyne would have to pass, to be obstructed by 
trees felled across them and interlaced. The cattle in the neighbor- 
hood were driven ofl". To add to the desolation the inhabitants 
deserted their homes, flying in afl'right before the approach of the 
dreaded foe, so that for whole days a traveller, in crossing from 
Ticonderoga to the Hudson, would meet nothing but ruined clear- 
ings, smoking crops, and a wilderness rendered more inhospitable 
by the destroying hand of man. 

The intelligence of tlie fall of Ticonderoga was heard with a 
thrill of horror by the country at large. In the popular mind the 
strength of St. Clair's garrison had been overrated, while of that of 
Burgoyne's army, too slight an estimate had been formed. The 
suspicion of treachery was at first breathed against the unfortunate 
commander ; and even Schuyler came in for his share of oppro- 
brium. At this day the charges of cowardice and venality against St. 
Clair are no longer entertained : but he is regarded as an incompe- 
tent commander, who either should have abandoned Ticonderoga 



FALL OF TICONBEROGA. 



87 



in time, or have held it out manfully. To Schuyler no censure can 
properly apply. He exerted himself vigorously in every emergency, 
and it was the measures he took which in fact led to the subsequent 




GENEKAX BUEGOYNE. 



capture of Burgoyne. But unfortunately for him, he was unpopular 
with the New England states, and their clamors ultimately led to 
his removal ; and, that, too, at a crisis when the precautions he had 
taken to arrest the foe were on the point of being crowned with 
success. Another reaped where he had sown ; and, for a while, 
Gates wore the laurel that of right belonged to Schuyler. But pos- 
terity has revoked the sentence of his contemporaries, by restoring to 
the latter General the renown which was fairly earned by his skill, 
his labors, and his sacrifices. 

The numerous Indians accompanying Burgoyne's army increased 
the terror of the inhabitants. The massacre at Fort Henry, in the 
French war, was still remembered ; and the murder of Miss McCrea, 
which now occurred, seemed to forebode a repetition of such scenes. 
This unfortunate lady was killed in a quarrel between two savages ; 
but rumor exaggerated the wantonness of this act, and thus the public 
mind was filled with horror and panic. 

The general consternation did not, however, subdue the spirit of 
Congress or paralyze the energies of Washington. The former 



88 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. ' 

having its eye ever on the hope of an aUiance with France, in- 
structed its agents abroad to lay the blame on the imbecility and 
misconduct of St. Clair, and to assure the Court of Versailles that the 
Americans, so far from being discouraged, only waited an occasion 
to avenge their defeats. Washington exerted all his influence to 
expedite succors to Schuyler. General Lincoln, a man of great 
influence in New England, was despatched thither to encourage the 
militia to enlist ; General Arnold and Colonel Morgan, both cele- 
brated for headlong valor, were sent to join Schuyler. 

In England the news of the fall of Ticonderoga was received with 
unbounded expressions of delight. Those who had opposed the war 
were silenced by the popular outcry; while the ministry were hailed 
as the asserters of the public honor. Success lent a temporary halo 
to the cause of oppression, and, in the exultation of the moment, the 
complete subjugation of America was regarded as now at hand. 
Yet how strange are the ordinations of fate ! At the very moment 
when, in England, these extravagant expectations were being 
indulged, the whole face of affairs in America had become suddenly 
changed : Burgoyne, so late the arrogant victor, was now a sup- 
pliant captive ; and the cause of Great Britain, but two short months 
before at the zenith of success, was now setting in darkness, and 
tempest, and despair. 

Although Ticonderoga fell on the 6th of July, it was the 30th of 
the same month before Burgoyne advanced to the Hudson. This 
delay was owing to the obstructions in the roads, and to his being 
compelled to take all his provisions with him. He subsequently 
remained at Fort Edward, from which the Americans had retired 
on his approach, until the 15th of August, engaged in bringing sup- 
plies from Ticonderoga. But his success was inconsiderable- in this 
undertaking. The horses he expected from Canada had not arrived ; 
he could with difficulty procure the comparatively small number of 
fifty pair of oxen; and, to add to his embarrassments, heavy and 
continual rains wore down the soldiers and rendered the roads im- 
passable. On the 15th, notwithstanding all his exertions, there were 
but four days' provisions in camp. He now resolved to send out a 
detachment to Bennington in New Hampshire, where he learned 
there was a depot of provisions belonging to the Americans. Colo- 
nel Baum was despatched accordingly on this service with a force 
of about six hundred men. Meantime, however, General Stark, of 
the New Hampshire militia, hearing of Baum's approach, marched 
with two thousand men, hastily collected, to meet the British. 
Baum, on learning the approach of Stark, halted before he reached 



THE SEIGE OF FORT SCHUYLER RAISED. &9 

Bennington and sent back to camp for reinforcements. Colonel 
Breyman, with five hundred men, was accordingly hurried off to his 
assistance. Before the arrival of the latter, however. Stark had 
stormed Baum in his entrenchments, and after a desperate conflict, 
in which Baum fell mortally wounded, had chased the enemy from 
the field. The militia dispersed for plunder, when Breyman came 
up and renewed the fight. Stark fortunately was reinforced, and 
the conflict raged until dark, when Breyman abandoned his baggage 
and artillery; and fled with the remnant of his force to the British 
camp. In this engagement the enemy lost about seven hundred ; 
the Americans but one hundred. Four brass field pieces, a thou- 
sand stand of arms, and nine hundred swords fell into the hands of 
Stark, a supply very opportune at the crisis, and which furnished 
many of the weapons subsequently used at Saratoga with such eflect 
against the foe. 

While Burgoyne had been thus advancing into the heart of New 
York, St. Leger, with the other division of the royal army, had 
marched from lake Ontario to the Mohawk, where, on the 3rd of 
August he laid seige to fort Schuyler with an army of sixteen hmi- 
dred men, composed of British, Canadians, Tories, and Indians. Col. 
Gansevort, who, with six hundred men occupied the post, on being 
summoned to surrender, replied, with the heroism of an ancient Ro- 
man, that he would defend it to the last. Meantime Gen. Herkimer, 
on the approach of the British, hastened to raise the militia of the 
county of Tryon and fly to the succor of Gansevort ; but marching 
without sufficient circumspection, he fell into an ambuscade of Bri- 
tish and savages, and was defeated, with the loss of his own life and 
of four hundred of his men. The victory of the Indians was accom- 
panied by all the horrors of their mode of warfare : they slaughtered 
the suppliant and the resisting alike, and after the battle even but- 
chered the prisoners taken by their English allies. The tradition of 
that terrible day still survives in the valley of the Mohawk, and the 
listener shudders as he hears the tale. 

The whole of Herkimer's, force would have fallen but for a 
diversion in his favor by the garrison, a party of whom made a bold 
sortie on the British camp, which they rifled, and then returned to 
the fort. The British, however, avenged themselves by resuming 
the siege with greater vigor than before. In this emergency Colonel 
Willet left the fort at dead of night, passed stealthily through the 
enemy's camp, and traversing pathless woods and unexplored 
morasses for the space of fifty miles, reached the confines of civili- 
zation, and raised the country to the relief of the leagured place. In 
12 H* 



90 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

this emergency Arnold was despatched to Fort Schuyler. On his 
approach the Indians began to be alarmed, and their terror being 
heightened by a report that Schuyler had totally defeated Burgoyne, 
they resolved to abandon St. Leger, and return to their own 
country. In vain the British commander besought them to stay : 
they were immoveable ; and in consequence, on the 22nd of August, 
St. Leger found himself forced to raise the siege. He retired with 
great precipitancy, leaving his tents, artillery and baggage in the 
hands of the garrison. Arnold, having succeeded in his purpose, 
returned to Camp ; while St. Leger retired in confusion to Montreal, 
whence he soon set forth to Ticonderoga to unite himself with 
Burgoyne. 

Thus one part of this well digested plan of invasion had already 
failed : a combination of circumstances was insidiously preparing 
the ruin of the other. Prominent among these was the want of 
provisions for Burgoyne's army, to which we have already alluded. 
This difficulty increased, instead of diminishing, as days and weeks 
progressed. The failure of his effort to relieve himself by the cap- 
ture of the stores at Bennington, threw a momentarily increasing 
cloud of despondency around his hopes. He began, for the first 
time, to appreciate the difficulty of his enterprise. Instead of finding 
himself among a friendly, or even indifferent population, he disco- 
vered that every step he took only led him further into the heart of 
a hostile community, from which he could draw neither encourage- 
ment nor sustenance, and where every man he met was irreconci- 
lably his foe. In such a country the capture of its forts was of little 
real benefit to the victor. He conquered only what he held. Though 
the country people every where fled before him, yet, as fast as he 
advanced they closed behind his track, like a returning tide. Thus 
hemmed in, with an armed enemy in front, and a hostile population 
gathering in his rear, Burgoyne knew scarcely which way to turn : 
his stout heart failed, his boastful confidence began to desert him, 
and foreboding shadows of the future already haunted his sleep, and 
deprived him, during the day, of his habitual cheerfulness. 

To add to the peril of his situation, the communications with his 
rear were now threatened. General Lincoln, having received a force 
of two thousand militia, instead of advancing directly to the succor 
of the American army, conceived the more effective plan of attack- 
ing Fort Ticonderoga and the other posts in Burgoyne's rear. His 
enterprise was successful in every thing except the capture of the 
two fortresses of Independence and Ticonderoga. Mount Defiance, 
Mount Hope, two hundred batteaux, several gun boats, an armed 



BURGOYNE ENCAMPS ON THE HUDSON. 



91 




BL'RGOV.XE'S ENCAMPMENT ON TUE BANKS OF THE HVDSON. 



sloop, and two hundred and ninety prisoners were the fruits of this 
happy thought. Besides this, one hundred American prisoners were 
set at hberty. In this manner mesh after mesh of the net destined 
to enclose Burgoyne, was drawn around the unhappy English 
General. 

At last he resolved to cross the Hudson and bring his enemy to 
battle, when, in case of a victory, the road to Albany would lie open, 
and supplies be more easy to be obtained. We camiot avoid regard- 
ing this as a military blunder. By advancing along the eastern shore 
of the Hudson, Burgoyne would have kept that river between him 
and the Americans, or, in case they attempted to cross it, he could 
have utterly routed them in the endeavor. By crossing to the 
western bank he lost these advantages. But his fate was upon 
him. An inevitable destiny led him forward. Accordingly, towards 
the middle of September, he threw a bridge of boats over the Hud- 
son, and passing his army across, encamped on the heights of Sara- 
toga, the Americans being at Stillwater, about three miles below. 



92 THE WAR OF INDEPEXDENCE. 

In the approaching trial of strength between the two armies, the 
Americans were as confident as the British were dispirited : in this 
respect the two sides had changed situations since the battle of 
Bennington. Every day saw new accessions of strength to the 
Americans, for the harvest being ended, the mihtia began to pour 
into camp : and to add to the popular enthusiasm. General Gates 
had just been appointed to succeed General Schuyler, and his name 
alone, especially with the New England soldiers, was considered a 
sure presage of success. Gates arrived in camp on the 21st of 
August. Though Schuyler felt keenly his own removal, and com- 
plained of it eloquently in his letters to Washington, he still had too 
much patriotism to suffer it to cool his ardor, but nobly seconded 
his more fortunate rival with all his powers. 

On the 19th of September, Burgoyne advanced to offer battle to 
the Americans. His right wing, commanded by himself, rested on 
the high grounds that rise from the river ; the left wing, under 
Generals Phillips and Reidesel, occupied the great road and meadows 
by the river side. The American army drew up in the same order 
from the river to the hills. Gates taking command of the right, and 
giving the left to Arnold. Between the two armies, and in front of 
the British right, Burgoyne had thrown forward his Indians. 
Colonel Morgan, with the American light horse, supported by the 
American light infantry, charged the savages, who fell back, but 
being supported, they rallied, and with hideous yells drove Morgan 
back to his original position. Burgoyne now extended his right wing, 
in order to overlap Arnold, and reach that General's flank and rear. 
But by one of those coincidences which sometimes happen amid the 
turmoil and smoke of battle, Arnold, at this very moment was engaged 
in a like manoeuvre against Burgoyne. The intervening woods hid 
the hostile troops from sight, until they came suddenly on each other 
at a turn in the road. Surprise for a moment checked both parties, 
when, the charge sounded, and they rushed madly on each other. 
The Americans, after a desperate conflict gave ground. Arnold, 
finding the right flank of the enemy too strong for him, now made a 
rapid movement, and threw himself on the left flank of the same 
wing. His onset was terrible. The British line wavered before it. 
Encouraging his men with voice and example, he raged in their 
front, the hero of the day. His intention was to pierce the enemy's 
line, and cut off" the right wing from the rest of the British army. 
To prevent this, successive reinforcements were poured on the 
threatened point ; but in vain : Gates hurried up new regiments 
to back Arnold ; and the whole interest of the struggle was concen- 



BATTLE OF BEHMUS HEIGHTS. 93 

trated in this one place, where victory seemed about to declare for 
the Americans. For four hours the contest raged with unexampled 
fury. At last, night put an end to the combat. The royalists slept 
on their arms on the field of battle ; their opponents fell back. Both 
parties claimed the victory, the English, for having kept possession 
of the scene of strife, the Americans, for having checked the advance 
of the foe. All the moral results of a victory pertained to the latter 
however, and to them, therefore, we must award it. The army of 
Gates lost three hundred and thirteen in killed and wounded ; that 
of Burgoyne, at least six hundred, some writers say a thousand. 
Immediately after this battle, the Indian allies of Burgoyne, becom- 
ing dissatisfied, abandoned him, and their example was followed 
by most of the Canadians and Tories. 

The day after the battle of Stillwater, the English General 
advanced, and took a position within cannon shot of Gates. Both 
armies now occupied themselves in fortifying their respective camps. 
On the 21st of September, two days after the battle, Burgoyne 
received a letter from General Clhiton, dated on the 10th, stating 
that he intended ascending the Hudscn, and attacking Fort Mont- 
gomery, but that he could do no more. Burgoyne had hoped that 
Clinton would advance to Albany, and could not conceal his 
despondency on receipt of this news. He instantly despatched 
emissaries to his brother General, with a full account of his difficul- 
ties, urging a speedy execution of the proposed diversion, and saying 
that he had provisions with which to hold out until the 12th of 
October. He waited until the 7th of October for a reply, but 
received none. Had prudence, indeed, controlled him, he would 
have retreated immediately after receiving Clinton's letter ; but hope 
lured him on, while he shrank from the disgrace of a retrograde 
movement. Thus was he hurried forward to his melancholy 
destiny. 

Not hearing from Clinton, Burgoyne resolved to attack the Ameri- 
can left, hoping to force a passage, which might be made available 
either for an advance or retreat, as circumstances should afterwards 
recommend. The battle that ensued is known in popular language 
as the battle of Behmus Heights. At the head of fifteen hundred 
men, led by himself in person, Burgoyne advanced to execute his 
movement ; but Gates instantly penetrating his design, despatched a 
strong corps to cut him oft' from the main army. The American 
detachment soon became engaged with the left of Burgoyne's, 
the contest extending along to the right. Gates now attempted to 
throw a body of troops into the enemy's rear, so as to prevent his 



94 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

retreat to camp. Burgoyne perceiving this, sent his hght infantry to 
form a second line, and cover him as he fell back. He then began 
a retrograde movement. Arnold, with three regiments, instantly 
gave pursuit. A terrible trial of skill and strength now ensued : 
the English struggling to reach their entrenchments, the Americans 
to cut them ofi*. Arnold was never greater than on that day. Gal- 
lopping fiercely to and fro, between his own troops and those of the 
enemy, he stimulated them, by his voice, and by his heroic courage, 
to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. For a while, Burgoyne regarded 
the day as lost. General Frazer, his friend and counsellor, had fallen 
mortally wounded, while endeavoring to check the onset of Arnold. 
The entrenchments were still at some distance : the Americans 
threatened to reach them first. At last, Burgoyne abandoned his 
artillery, and leaving a frightful array of killed and wounded, shew- 
ing the path by which he had retreated, made a last, and successful 
efibrt to gain the desired entrenchments. But even here he was not 
safe. Arnold still thundered in pursuit. The American General, 
fired with the resistless fury and courage of another Achilles, 
came raging to the front of the lines, and without pause, and amid a 
tempest of grape drifting into his face, dashed up to the assault 
Everything yielded before him. He had almost carried the works 
by storm, when a shot struck him in the leg, and he was forced to 
retire from the field. His men, however, still possessed with the 
fury to which he had excited them, continued the attack. Night at 
last fell, and checked the sanguinary struggle. 

In another quarter the enemy was even more unfortunate. While 
Arnold had been driving the British in terror and haste before him, 
Colonel Brooks, with a corps of Americans, had turned the extreme 
right of Burgoyne 's encampment, and carried the works there by 
storm, notwithstanding a desperate resistance made by Colonel Brey- 
man, who occupied them with the German reserve. Breyman, 
himself, was mortally wounded. The tents, artillery, and baggage 
fell into the hands of the Americans, who established themselves in 
the entrenchment, and there spent the night. And as the guards 
went their rounds in their new possession, they saw, near at hand, 
the dark shadows of the English host, and eagerly longed for the 
dawn to renew the fray. 

But Burgoyne feared to tempt fortune again. He had suffered 
terribly, and lost immense stores. His troops were disheartened. 
His position was no longer tenable. Accordingly, in the night, he 
changed his ground to the heights in his rear. In this strong post 
Gates refused to attack him, for he now thought himself certain to 



BURGOYNE RETREATS TO SARATOGA. 



.95 



reduce his enemy by starvation : he accordingly confined himself on 
the 8th to a distant cannonade, which the enemy warmly returned. 
It was during this fire, that General Lincoln was wounded in the leg. 
Several skirmishes took place in the course of the day. Towards 
evening, the British proceeded, with melancholy hearts, to the obse- 
quies of General Frazer. With slow steps and sad countenances, 
his late associates followed him to the grave: their regret for the 
deceased being combined with anxious solicitude for. their own 







BL-RGOYXES RETREAT TO SARATOGA. 



future. To add to the terrors of the scene, the American batteries, 
during the whole evening, filled the darkness with their blaze and 
roar ; while at every moment the balls fell around, and spattered 
earth in the faces of the chaplain and spectators. 

Gates now made preparations for throwing a strong corps into 
Burgoyne's rear. The latter, perceiving this, abandoned his hospital 
to the mercy of the victor, and retreated to Saratoga, nine miles dis- 
tant, where he arrived on the 10th. A drenching rain pursued him 
nearly the whole way. Gloom and despondency, from this hour, 



96 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

made a prey of the British army. The men had lost all c(?iifidence 
in themselves : they were half-starved, wet through, wounded 
and sore. Their leaders saw no gleam of hope, and met each other 
with melancholy looks. There was no word of Clinton. The 
Americans already had seized the fords in the rear, so that escape 
was impossible. The net had been drawn closer and closer, until 
now the victim scarcely found room to turn ; every avenue blocked 
up, every hope of succor gone, Burgoyne was a subject of pity, 
rather than of hate. With secret tears, his proud soul saw all his 
visions of glory vanished ; and no resource left but a step only less 
bitter than death itself. This was a surrender, now inevitable. 
Accordingly, on the 1 3th, a communication was opened with Gates, 
and on the 16th, terms of capitulation were signed. The English, 
to the number of nearly six thousand, surrendered themselves pri- 
soners of war. By the stipulations of the articles the British were 
to march out of their encampment with the honors of war : to stack 
their arms by command of their own officers, who were to retain 
their side-arms : the men not to serve against the United States until 
exchanged, though to be permitted to embark for England or 
Germany. 

These were more favorable terms than would have been granted, 
had not Gates heard of the advance of Clinton to Fort Montgomery, 
and the fall of that place, which had taken place a few days before. 
In fact, the British General had reduced all the forts on the lower 
Hudson, and was now opening the way to Albany : but on hearing 
of Burgoyne 's surrender, he retired again to New York. Thus ended 
the expedition from Canada, on which the British ministry had 
placed such reliance. On the day of the capitulation, the American 
army numbered fifteen thousand men, of whom nearly ten thousand 
were regulars : the English five thousand, seven hundred and nine- 
ty-one, the remains of the splendid army of nine thousand, with which 
Burgoyne had left Ticouderoga. Even of these, but three thousand 
five hundred, were capable fighting men. 

The fall of Burgoyne was received with a burst of enthusiastic 
applause from one end of the confederacy to the other. The popu- 
lar mind, overlooking the true causes of his defeat, attributed all to 
the genius and courage of Gates, who was immediately lauded as 
the first of living Generals. No reward was considered too great for 
him. Congress voted him immediately a gold medal. Gates suffered 
himself to be carried away by this extravagant popularity. Of 
unequal mind, he became too exhilirated by success, as in defeat he 
was too depressed : he began now to form the loftiest ideas of his own 



AMERICAN ARMY AT VALLEY FORGE. 97 

capacity and merits, grew over-confident, trusted too much to the 
terror of his name, and despising prudence and foresight, brought 
on himself at no distant day, defeat, humiliation and ruin. 

With far different sentiments was the news of Burgoyne's defeat 
received in England. Consternation seized even the warmest advo- 
cates of the war ; all foresaw that France would now ally herself 
to the colonies. The middle ranks, heretofore almost unanimous in 
support of the ministers, became alarmed at the prospect of a pro- 
tracted war and an increase of taxes. The minister himself saw 
that the cause was virtually lost, and hastening to the king tendered 
^his resignation. In that crisis, George the Third had it in his power 
to have averted the further horrors of war, the increase of his peo- 
ple's burdens, and the execrations with which impartial history 
must load his name. But instead of listening to the remonstrances 
of Lord North, he laid his commands on that nobleman to remain 
in office and prosecute the war. Never was a more obstinate man 
than the then sovereign of Great Britain : never one possessing 
higher notions of kingly prerogative, or more at heart a tyrant. The 
minister to his own disgrace, consented. For a period of four more 
years, blood and havoc devastated America ; of all which the awful 
responsibility rests on the head of the monarch. Is it going too far 
to assert that in the miseries of his future life : in the ingratitude of 
his heir, in the commotions arising from the French revolution, and 
in his own subsequent blindness and insanity, a retributive Provi- 
dence worked out, in part, his punishment ? 

The close of the year 1777, found tlie British army comfortably 
quartered in Philadelphia, while the Americans lay at Valley Forge 
enduring every inclemency of the season. To this latter place Wash- 
ington had retired from White Marsh, his troops frequently tracking 
the ground with blood from their bare feet. At Valley Forge they 
constructed rude log huts, in which they braved one of the most icy 
winters on record : sleeping usually without beds, blankets, or even 
straw. But few of the men had a whole garment : half a shirt was 
more frequent than a whole one : overcoats were almost entirely 
wanting. To add to their sutierings provisions became scarce. The 
neighboring farmers, attracted by the gold given in exchange lor 
their products by the British, while the Americans had nothing to 
offer but continental money, constantly depreciating in price, flocked 
to Philadelphia ; and the army at Valley Forge might have starved 
but for the energy of Washington, who, exercising the dictatorial 
powers conferred on him by Congress, seized the necessary provi- 
sions by force, and continued thus to supply his camp until, through 
13 I 



98 



THE WAR OF IXDEPENDEXCE. 



the exertions of the commissary department, succors were brought 
from Connecticut and other places at a distance. The horrors of the 
winter were increased by a contagious fever, which, arising origi- 
nally from scarcity of food and clothing, broke out in the camp and 
daily swept numbers to the grave. It is computed that of seventeen 
thousand men, the numerical force of the army, there were at no 
time during this awful winter, more than five thousand fit for duty. 




ENCAMPMENT AT VALLEY FOKGE. 



So alarming a condition of things, if known to its full extent by 
Howe, would infallibly have brought him out from his quarters ai 
Philadelphia to attack Washington. But the latter, by keeping 
parties actively employed in harassing the outposts of the British, 
and by circulating exaggerated stories of his strength, continued to 
alarm the prudence of the English commander and ensure repose 
for his own harassed troops. 

But Washington had not only to combat distress in camp, and 
keep a wary eye on a powerful foe without : domestic intrigue in 
his own army, and even in his military family, was busying herself 
to ruin him in the estimation of the people. From the beginning of 
the war there had been a party in Congress, chiefly New En- 
glanders, who viewed with jealousy the elevation of a Virginian to 
the supreme command ; and to these were now added a knot of 
discontented military spirits, who complained loudly of what thev 
called the criminal inactivity of Washington, and, under the guise 
of seeking to advance the interests of the country by the substitution 
of a more able chief, intrigued in reality to advance themselves. 
Among the most prominent of these men were Generals Conwav 



RESIGNATION OF HOWE. , 99 

and Mifflin, the former a foreigner, the latter a Pennsylvanian. 
Gates was the person they aimed to place in the office of commander 
in chief. The latter was secretly a friend to the intrigue ; and 
hoped that his late victory would smooth the road to his elevation. 
Among other base plots of this faction, was one intended to separate 
La Fayette from Washington ; and for this purpose they procured 
Congress to project, without consulting the General, another expe- 
dition against Canada, the command of which was to be given to 
the Marquis. The plot failed, however, and the enterprise was 
abandoned. The machinations of these bad spirits coming to light, 
the popular voice broke out into such loud expressions of indigna- 
tion, and the esteem of Washington among the best citizens, was 
found so much to exceed their belief, that the conspirators abandoned 
their scheme in chagrin. Happy for the cause of independence was 
this failure, as the subsequent incompetency of Gates proved. There 
is no part of Washington's career which exhibits his character in a 
nobler aspect than his manly and high mmded conduct during this 
crisis : though conscious of the injustice of Congress, he was too 
elevated in soul to allow irritation or anger to alfect his conduct ; 
but serene and high, he bore himself above the petty weaknesses 
of our frail human nature, continuing in all things to exercise his 
duties as if nothing base or ungrateful had been plotted against him. 

On the contrary, it was during this very period, that he exposed 
himself to the animadversions of Congress, by beseiging their doors 
with letters and remonstrances in favor of awarding half pay for life 
to the officers who should serve during the war. He was actuated 
to this course by a sincere conviction of its justice. Many of the 
best officers had no income but their pay, and as this was received 
in depreciated continental bills, they did not enjoy enough to support 
themselves, much less their absent families. Civilians, in the mean- 
time, were making a comfortable subsistence in comparative ease. 
These considerations induced many to resign, the best and ablest 
being invariably the first disgusted. The evil threatened to disband 
the army. In this emergency Washington recommended the system 
of half pay for life, as a premium on continuing in the army to the 
end of the contest. This advice, though at first received with cold- 
ness, was finally adopted in part, and half pay for seven years was 
voted to the officers, to count from the close of the war. 

The spring of 1778 opened with the resignation of Howe, and 
his return to England, where, in consequence of current rumors 
against his incapacity, he demanded an enquiry into his conduct in 
Parliament. The investigation ended in nothing. Howe's chief 



100 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

complaint against the ministry was that they refused to comply with 
his requisitions for troops, but persisted in the error, which he early 
warned them against, of believing that large numbers of loyalists 
could be recruited in America. The truth was, that ignorance, ob- 
stinacy and incapacity were, throughout this whole conflict, charac- 
teristics of the English Cabinet. Howe was right in his strictures : 
he never had enough men for his purposes. That he was not a 
great military genius ; that he frequently erred on the side of 
prudence ; are facts not to be denied. But the opinion of his merits 
rises when we consider that he effected more than any of liis 
successors. In reality, America, from the stubbornness of the 
patriots, and the impracticable character of the country, was uncon- 
querable : it was not in human intellect to overcome her : hence the 
failures of the English Generals, and hence, too, the recriminations 
between the ministry and the disgusted leaders. 

On the 6th of February, 1778, treaties of amity and commerce, 
and of alliance with the United States, were entered into by the 
king of France. This event, long procrastinated, had been deter- 
mined finally by the capture of Burgoyne. Hitherto France had 
held back, secretly aiding the Americans, but refusing openly to 
espouse their cause : her wish being to strengthen herself for a war 
if it should occur, and to avoid one unless a compromise between 
England and her colonies became impossible. On the 2nd of May 
Silas Deane arrived in Philadelphia with copies of the treaties. 
Congress immediately ratified them, amid the universal joy of the 
country. In the treaty of alliance it was declared that if war should 
break out between England and France, during the continuance of 
the one now existing with the United States, it should be made 
common cause : and that neither of the contracting parties should 
conclude either truce or peace with great Britain, without the formal 
consent of the other. Moreover, they mutually engaged not to lay 
down their arms, until the independence of the United States should 
have been formally, or tacitly, assured, by the treaty or treaties that 
should terminate the war. A separate and secret article reserved 
to the King of Spain the right to become a party to the treaty of 
amity and commerce, and to that of alliance, at such time as he 
should think proper. 

Not, however, to abandon all hope of accommodation, or rather 
as a blind to the country members. Lord North proposed in Parlia- 
ment new terms of conciliation with America. He moved a resolu- 
tion that in future England would abandon the right to lay any tax 
or duty on the colonies, except such as was beneficial to commerce. 



TERMS OF COXCILIATION. 



101 




SIGNING THE TREATY OF ALLIANCE AT PARIS. 



and it only to be collected under the authority of the respective 
provinces, and for their use and advantage. Five commissioners 
were appointed to treat with the colonies, with powers to suspend 
all laws passed since the 10th of February, 1763, and to grant 
armistices and pardons. The departure of these commissioners was 
hastened in consequence of the alliance with France. They arrived 
in America late in the spring, and immediately began to circulate 
copies of the conditions of compromise. Congress answered these 
papers by a report, which was ordered to be published with them. 
In this report the people were warned against this new and insidious 
attempt of England to destroy that union by Avhich alone the liber- 
ties of America could be achieved. A resolution of Congress was 
appended, declaring that the withdrawal of the British forces, or the 
acknowledgment of the independence of the states, were indispensa- 
ble preliminaries to any treaty. This report and resolution were 
received with general applause. The alliance with France had 
convinced the most timid that success must eventually crown the 
efforts of the confederation. The loyalists began to waver : some 



102 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

even came forward and look the oaths to the new government. The 
storm was already breaking away : the clouds rolled westward : and 
through the broken gaps, which momentarily increased, gleamed in 
the distance the star of peace. 

The French, almost immediately after entering into their treaty 
of alliance, I'esolved to send a fleet to America ; and accordingly, 
on the 1 3th of xVpril, the Comit d'Estaing, with a large squadron, 
departed from France. The English ministry suspecting such a 
movement, and fearing that the French might embarrass Clinton by 
obtaining command of the Delaware, sent out instructions to him to 
evacuate Philadelphia and fall back upon New York. In conse- 
quence, on the 18th of June, the royal General abandoned forever 
the capital whose possession had cost so much blood. Expecting to 
find the population of New Jersey hostile, he took with him suffi- 
cient provisions for the whole retreat: this encumbered him with a 
long train of wagons, which rendered his progress necessarily slow. 
Washington, on receiving certain intelligence of this movement, 
broke up his camp at Valley Forge and began a pursuit. He was 
exceedingly anxious to attack the enemy, but his opinion in favor 
of a battle was over-ruled in a council of officers ; Lee, who had just 
been exchanged for Prescott, taking a prominent lead in opposition, 
and contending that the want of discipline among the Americans 
rendered the experiment too hazardous. Washington, however, 
followed the enemy cautiously, holding the power to give or refuse 
battle, as he chose. At last, on the 27th of June, the British army 
encamped at Monmouth, The heights of Middletown were but a few 
miles distant, and if Clinton once reached there, it would be impos- 
sible to attack him. In this crisis Washington resolved to give 
battle, notwithstanding the adverse opinion of his officers. 

The advanced division of the Americans had been confided to La 
Fayette, Lee having refused it ; but subsequently he changed his 
mind, and desired the command, which was generously yielded to 
him. Washington, on the evening of the 27th, gave him orders to 
attack the enemy on the ensuing day, unless there were powerful 
reasons to the contrary. Accordingly, on the 28th, Lee put his 
columns into motion to obey this command. The van of the British, 
led by Knyphausen, had started at day -break, but Clinton, with the 
rear, remained until eight o'clock on the heights where they had 
encamped the preceding night. In the meantime, Knyphausen had 
advanced some miles, and Clinton could just see his dark columns in 
the distance, the intermediate space being occupied by long trains of 
wagons toiling through the sandy plains. Clouds of dust hung over 



BATTLE OF MONMOUTH, 103 

the prospect, for the day was already intolerably hot, with scarcely 
the slightest breeze stirring. The design of Washington was to 
let Lee assail Clinton in the rear, while Morgan and Dickenson 
should attack his right and left flanks, in the hope to cut him off from 
his baggage. But Clinton, penetrating this design, resolved to face 
on Lee, and make so vigorous an assault, that it would be necessary 
for the Americans to recall Morgan and Dickenson. The plan was 
well conceived, and executed with boldness. Wheeling on Lee, the 
British General advanced impetuously to the charge, his artillery 
and dragoons moving gallantly before him. Lee little expected to 
find Clinton so ready for the combat, or in such force ; neverthe- 
less, he began to form his line in order to receive the enemy. But 
at this moment, through a mistake, one of his subordinates, fell back 
with a portion of the troops, across a morass in their rear ; and Lee, 
already doubtful whether it was prudent to engage, suffered this 
incident to decide him, and began a retreat. His way lay along 
a valley, about three miles long and one wide, broken by woods, 
hillocks, and patches of swampy ground. He had already retired 
some distance, the British pursuing with animation, and yet he saw 
no position where he thought it advisable to make a stand. In fact, 
having been opposed to a battle from the first, he scarcely regretted 
that events had happened to justify his opinion. He still, there- 
fore, continued retreating. 

Washington, however, was in a situation exactly the reverse. He 
had recommended a battle : he had even brought one on against the 
opinions of his officers. His good name, in a measure, depended on 
success. Yet he had arranged his plans so skilfully, that he scarcely 
entertained a doubt of victory. On the first sound of firing, he hastened 
forward, at the head of the rear-guard, so eager to join the fray that 
he directed the soldiers to cast away their knapsacks. Suddenly, a 
horseman, covered with dust, his animal white with foam, dashed 
up, and announced that Lee was in full retreat. Astonishment and 
indignation flashed across Washington's countenance : for a moment, 
perhaps, he suspected treachery : plunging his spurs into his horse's 
sides, he galloped furiously forward. It was not long before he 
met Lee. Addressing that officer with anger, he demanded the 
cause of the flight. But instantly reflecting that the occasion was 
one for action, not for words, he proceeded to use his voice and 
example to check the retreat. It was necessary, first of all, to arrest 
the impetuous career of the British, and for this purpose, two bat- 
talions were placed on the left, behind a clump of woods, to receive 
the first shock of the enemy. Washington, after this, directing Lee 



104 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

to make good his position at all hazards, hurried back to bring up 
the rear-guard. Lee, stung by the reproaches of the General, now 
made the most desperate efforts to rally his troops. He succeeded 
in part. For a while the English were checked. But the splendid 
grenadiers of Cornwallis, inflamed at this unexpected rebuff, now 
advanced to the charge, their polished muskets gleaming out, at 
broken intervals, through the dust and smoke of that sultry battle- 
field, like lightning playing in a thunder-cloud. Their loud huzzas 
rent the air as they charged at quick pace : and the Americans, 
overpowered, once more began to retreat. 

The contest had now raged along an extent of three miles or 
more. The day had progressed to noon, and the air was hot and 
suffocating. Many of the men in both armies, had fallen dead from 
the heat. It was the Sabbath day, and all nature was quiet. The 
leaves hung motionless on the trees ; no laborers disturbed the fields 
with rural sounds : far away, along the line of the hills, the atmos- 
phere seemed to boil in the sun's vertical rays. Yet Washington, 
haunted by the thought of impending disaster, saw nothing of these 
things ; all was uproar and tumult in his soul, as on the battle-field ; 
strange contrast with the peacefulness of nature ! Riding at the 
head, he hurried the rear-guard forward with impetuous haste, and 
speedily met Lee, now unavoidably retreating. Instantly room was 
made for the fugitives to pass to the rear, while the fresh troops 
were brought promptly and skilfully into action. One detachment 
was placed in a neighboring wood ; another, on a hill to the left ; and 
the remaining, and largest, in the centre, boldly facing the enemy. 
Lord Stirling, with a battery of guns, was sent to support the first, 
on the hill to the left. These dispositions had scarcely been made, 
before Greene arrived at the scene. He enjoyed the command of 
the right wing on that day, and had at first advanced considerably, 
but on hearing of Lee's retreat, had thought it prudent to fall back. 
Coming up opportunely at this crisis, he took a strong position on an 
elevation to Lord Stirling's right, and having with him Knox's bat- 
tery of artillery, he speedily unlimbered the guns, and began to open 
with vigor and accuracy on the foe. Lord Stirling's pieces seconded 
him from the other part of the field : and soon the groimd shook 
with incessant explosions. 

Tlie British had been checked in front by the very first of these 
dispositions. But, unwilling to yield the victory, they changed their 
point of attack, and attempted to turn the left flank of the Ameri^ 
cans: repulsed here, they wheeled like a hon bafiied in the ring, and 
essayed to surround the right of the foe ; but this was the period of 



THE BATTLE OF MONMOUTH. 



105 




SIB HENRY CLINTON. 



time when Knox had just planted his battery, and the well served 
pieces opened whole lanes through the masses of the foe. The dust 
and smoke combined, at this point of the strife, for a moment con- 
cealed the enemy from the Americans. All at once the canopy 
lifted and the British were beheld falling back. Washington saw 
it : his heart thrilled with anticipated victory: the moment had come 
when a vigorous stroke would turn the scales of battle. He ordered 
up Wayne, with his tried veterans, to charge the confused ranks of 
the enemy. Launching his infantry like a thunderbolt on the foe, 
that headlong officer carried dismay and terror every where before 
him. The story of the battle was reversed. The British were in 

full retrea* 
14 



106 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

Clinton, however, still desperately disputing the fray, rallied his 
men on the same gromid where Lee had made his first halt. Here 
his flanks were covered by woods and deep morasses : while his 
front was defended by a ravine, crossed only by a single narrow 
pass. Washington followed him up, and the action began anew. 
But the day had been consumed in this succession of terrible strug- 
gles, and night now approaching, the firing on both sides gradually 
ceased. In fact, the troops of either army were completely exhausted. 
At the welcome order to desist, the men flung themselves on the 
ground panting for breath, or eagerly sought water to allay their 
burning thirst. The night continued intensely hot. Scarcely a 
breath of air arose to cool the fevered Americans, and 'for hours 
they tossed on the ground courting sleep in vain. Slowly the dust 
settled once more on the plain. The moon, now in her fourth quar- 
ter, soon set, and for a while there was comparative darkness. Then 
the stars came out on a sky, again blue and unshrouded ; the dew, 
beginning to fall, rendered the atmosphere more refreshing ; and the 
soldiers, worn out. by excitement, finally sunk one by one to slum- 
ber, Washington reposing in their midst, extended on the uncovered 
ground. 

Thus ended the most memorable battle of the revolution. It was 
fought within a few days of the summer solstice, and with the ther- 
mometer at ninety ; the only strife of a like character recorded in 
history. Its result was a virtual defeat of Clinton. At the first, 
victory had inclined decidedly for the British ; but the skill and 
resolution of Washington changed the fortunes of the day. The 
Americans, in this battle, lost sixty -nine killed, and one hun- 
dred and forty wounded : the British had nearly three hundred 
killed, besides an equal number wounded. But their principal 
diminution of numbers occurred after the battle, when hundreds 
deserted to settle peaceably among the people they had come to 
conquer. 

On the morning succeeding the strife, Washington had resolved to 
renew the battle, but Clinton silently decamped in the night and 
gained the heights of Middletown. The American General thought 
nothing was to be gained now by a pursuit, and accordingly the 
English embarked in safety at Sandy Hook. On the 1st of July, 
Washington advanced to the Hudson, and took up a favorable 
position to watch the enemy now in force in New York. 

General Lee, of an irascible and revengeful mind, could ill-brook 
the expressions Washington had used towards him during the battle. 
He brooded over what he thought his injuries, and finally wrote 



INDIAN MASSACRES. 107 

two improper letters to his superior. The consequence was a court 
martial, which suspended him for one year. 

The remaining events of 1778, may be told in a few words. The 
Count d'Estaing arrived off Virginia early in July, when, being 
informed that Lord Howe had left the Delaware, he pursued that 
officer to New York. Here, however, he could not get his ships 
over the bar, owing to the want of water. He now, at Washing- 
ton's suggestion, proceeded to Rhode Island, to unite with General 
Sullivan in the reduction of the British army, six thousand strong, 
which was stationed at Newport, Sullivan was at the head of a force 
often thousand men, chiefly militia, and was exceedingly anxious to 
succeed in the enterprise, for though a laborious, he had been an 
unfortunate officer, and he now fancied he had a chance to achieve 
something brilliant at last. The 9th of August was selected for a 
combined attack on the British lines. But on that day, Howe 
appearing off" the harbor, d'Estaing put to sea to give him chase. 
Sullivan waited in vain for his ally's return until the 14th, when he 
laid siege alone to Newport. On the 19th d'Estaing made his 
appearance, in a shattered condition, the two fleets having been 
separated by a storm. He refused to assist further in the siege, and 
announced his design of going to Boston to re-fit. In vain La Fay- 
ette and Greene besought him to remain. He replied, that he was 
controlled by orders from home. He set sail on the 22nd. SuUivuii 
now found himself forced to abandon the siege, which he did in 
mortification, anger, and despair. He was pursued by the British, 
who met a repulse : after which he was suffered to retire unmolested. 
He still, however, kept possession of the north end of the island. 
But, receiving intelHgence from Washington that Lord Howe had 
sailed from New York with a large body of troops, intended to cut 
off his retreat, he abandoned his works on the night of the 30th of 
September, and retired to the mainland. It was a fortunate move- 
ment, and not too early effected; for on the 31st, Clinton arrived 
with four thousand men. 

During this summer, occurred those devastations and massacres on 
the western border which will be ever memorable for their horrors. 
The Indians, excited by the English, made simultaneous incursions 
on the defenceless settlements, along the whole line of frontier from 
the boundery of New York to the confines of Georgia. In the 
south, their successes were partial : but from Virginia they were 
repelled by Colonel George Rogers Clarke. Their most terrible blow, 
however, fell on the beautiful and peaceful valley of Wyoming, 
situated on the north branch of the Susquehannah, in the upper part 



108 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 



of Pennsylvania. A body of savages and tories, the latter said to 
be the most numerous, headed by Colonel Butler, a Connecticut 
loyalist, descended suddenly on this settlement in the beginning of 
July, and laid waste the district with fire and sword. Unheard of 
cruelties were perpetrated on the miserable inhabitants. The heart 
sickens in reading the horrible details of that massacre. Harmless 
women were scalped and left to die in lingering agonies : children 
were inhumanly put to death in sport : a fort was fired and its 




EUINS OF WYOMING. 



unhappy inmates burnt alive. Brothers refused brothers mercy, but 
murdered them while suppliant. It is computed that of a population 
of three thousand souls very few escaped. When the relatives of the 
hapless victims visited the valley with reinforcements, they found 
only desolate ruins where once had been smiling houses, while for 
miles, before reaching the fort, the road was strewn with bleached 
and mouldering human bones. 

For this horrible massacre a terrible retribution was taken the 
succeeding year. An expedition, commanded by General Sullivan, 
proceeded up the Susquehannah, in the summer of 1779, as far as 
Wyoming, where it was joined by General James Clinton, from the 
Mohawk, with further reinforcements. The two Generals advanced 
up the Susquehannah,penetrating the territory of the Six Nations, until 
they reached a village called Newtown. Here the Indians had 
made a stand, assisted by some loyalists. Their position was 
defended by palisades and a rude redoubt, but the Americans 
charged with such fury, that the savages, after two hours fighting, 
fled on all sides. No further resistance was made by the Indians, 



STORMING OF STONY POINT. 109 

who, abandoning their corn-fields and villages, hid themselves in 
inaccessible swamps, or retreated to the frontiers of Canada. Sulli- 
van's orders were to lay waste their comitry with fire and sword, 
which he proceeded to do. Forty villages, and one hundred and 
sixty thousand bushels of corn were destroyed : the whole of that 
fertile district, with its orchards and farm-houses, was reduced to a 
smoking ruin : and the savages, late its possessors, and who had 
there gathered aroimd themselves all the appliances of civilization, 
were driven forth outcasts, to herd again with wild beasts, and to 
perish of want, exposure, and (iisease, during the ensuing winter. 
Thus do the miseries and cruelties of war re-produce themselves. 

During the year 1779, the same in which this terrible retaliation 
occurred, the armies of Washington and Clinton, though watching 
each other closely, engaged in no enterprise of magnitude. On 
the side of the American General, this apparent indolence was 
the result of the comparatively small force under his command, for 
the terms of a large portion of his troops were expiring, and enlist- 
ments progressed slowly. He was especially unwilling to hazard 
the loss of a battle with his insufficient forces, because he considered 
the cause gained already, unless, by his receiving some severe check, 
the drooping spirits of the enemy should be raised. On the side of 
Sir Henry Clinton, this inactivity was in part the result of a want of 
reinforcements, in part the remembrance of Monmouth, and in part 
a consequence of a design then forming to operate in the southern 
colonies. 

Meantime, however, the British General set on foot several pre- 
datory excursions, the principal of which was directed against the 
exposed coast of Connecticut. The command of this enterprise was 
bestowed on the notorious Governor Tryon. He took with him 
twenty-six hundred troops, and was absent about ten daj^s, during 
which period he plundered and burnt East Haven, Fairfield, and 
Norwalk : and New Haven, which he pillaged, would also have 
been given to the tiames, but for the gallantry of a party of students, 
headed by Captain James Fairfield. Another expedition was 
despatched against Porstmouth, in Virginia. That town was plun- 
dered, and partially destroyed, as well as Suff'olk, Kemp's Landing, 
Gosport, and other places in the vicinity. About one hundred and 
fifty American vessels fell into the hands of the British, during the 
fortnight's stay made by their fleet on the coast. After being absent 
less than a month, this Vandal expedition returned to New York. 

Early in the spring the Americans had busied themselves with 
fortifying Stony Point and Verplank's Hill, commanding King's 



110 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. 

Ferry, on the Hudson. The Enghsh resolved to attempt the seizure 
of these two posts, as in that case the Americans would have no 
way of communication between the middle and eastern colonies, 
unless by making a circuit of ninety miles up the Hudson. The 
enterprise was successful. Clinton now hastened to complete the 
works at both these places ; and had, before the end of June, ren- 
dered them, as he hoped, impregnable. Washington, however, 
resolved to attempt their surprize. The delicate and perilous 
undertaking of storming Stony Point, the most difficult of the two, 
was entrusted to General Wayne, v On the 15th of July, 1779, that 
officer, at the head of a detachment of picked veterans, cautiously 
approached the place, and, unperceived by the enemy, advanced to 
the assault about half-past eleven o'clock at night. The Americans 
marched in two columns, with fixed bayonets. The enemy soon 
discovered them through the gloom, and immediately opened a tre- 
mendous fire of musketry and grape ; yet nothing could daunt the 
impetuosity of the assailants : opening their way with the bayonet, 
they scaled the works, and the two columns met in the centre of 
the fort. The fury of the defence is shewn by the fact, that out of 
the forlorn hope of twenty, seventeen fell. General Wayne him- 
self was slightly wounded in the head at the beginning of the assault, 
but bravely continued to advance with his men. The English lost 
six hundred in killed and prisoners. The American loss was sixty- 
three killed, and forty wounded. The fortifications were now 
demolished, and the place abandoned. The attack meditated against 
Fort Verplanks, on the opposite side of the river, had not the same 
success, insurmountable obstacles having been encountered. 

This campaign was also distinguished by the surprise of Pawles 
Hook. With less than five hundred men. Major Lee, on the 18th 
of July, took this post with the loss of but half a dozen men, killed 
and wounded. About thirty of the enemy were killed, besides one 
hundred and sixty-one taken prisoners. The post being near the 
main body of the enemy ,was immediately abandoned : but the brilliant 
success of the enterprise exhilarated the spirit of the whole American 
army. About the same time, General Putnam, at the Horse Neck, 
in Connecticut, came near falling into the enemy's hands, and only 
succeeded in escaping by gallopping his horse headlong down an 
almost precipitous descent of one hundred steps. In August of this 
year, an expedition, fitted out at Boston, to reduce the British post 
at Penobscot, failed in consequence of unnecessary delays, which 
afforded time for an English squadron to sail to the relief of the 



THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 



Ill 



post. Thus the year passed. No important enterprises were 
undertaken ; no permanent advantages gained on either side. 

We must now turn from the north, where comparative inactivity 
marked both armies, and devote ourselves for a while to the south, 
where war, revisiting that section of the country, in the summer of 
1779, continued to rage there until the declaration of peace, with a 
violence and horror to which the north had been a stranger, and which 
gave to it, in the language of General Greene, the character of a 
strife between fiends rather than men. 





GENERAL GREEXE. 



BOOK IV. 



THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 



HE commissioners sent out with Lord 
Howe, in the spring of 1778, had con- 
tinued in the country after Congress re- 
jected their proposals, one of their number 
occupying himself in endeavors to seduce 
various prominent members of the patriot 
party. Governor Johnstone was the per- 
sonage who made himself active in these 
overtures. He addressed letters to Robert 
Morris, to Joseph Reed, and to Francis 
Dana : and secretly offered, through a 
lady, a bribe of ten thousand pounds to General Reed. These in- 
trigues coming to light, induced Congress to declare that it could 
15 K* 113 




114 THE WAR OF IXDEPENDENCE. 

hold no correspondence with Johnstone, who made a sharp rejoinder, 
while his colleagues dis(?laimed all knowledge of any bribery and 
corruption, and bore testimony to his honesty and high liiindedness. 
The conduct of Reed was one of the noblest histances of patriotism 
in our revolutionary history. 

The winter spent at Valley Forge had not been without one good 
effect: it had tended materially to increase the discipline of the army. 
In May, 1778, the Baron Steuben, who had served with distinction 
under the great Fredericl^ was appointed Inspector General of the 
army, into which he speedily introduced the exact and perfect prac- 
tice of the then celebrated Prussian discipline. The benefit of his 
instructions was perceptible even at so early a period as the battle 
of Monmouth, as may be seen by comparing the conduct of the 
soldiers there and at Long Island; but was more especially remark- 
able in the storming of Stony Point, where not a musket was 
(Hscharged, but the bayonet did every thing, a feat worthy of the 
Prussian veterans themselves. 

The British, after three active campaigns, now found themselves 
no further advanced than in the first. It had been remarked in 
Europe, on hen ring of the battle of Bunker Hill, that the royal 
troops h;id con(]iicred, on that day, only so nmch of America as was 
covered by the dead and dying. After the la])se of four years, they 
had done no more. At no period, not even in the disastrous autumn 
ot' 177f), had they reduced to submission more of the country than 
they occupied. As long as their armies were present in overwhelm- 
mg force, the inhabitants were quiet through terror ; but the instant 
the royal troops departed, the country rose in their rear. The tem- 
porary ascendancy of the loyalists, always in a minority, was cast 
down : the jjatriots once more assumed the reins of government ; the 
disaffected were banished, imprisoned, or silenced by fines : and a 
traveller, ignorant of this sudden change, would have supposed that 
the colonists had never succumbed to the British, since the war 
first broke out. 

From the conquest of such a people, the royal generals began to 
turn in despair. At first, they had attempted the reduction of New 
England. A year's experience had convinced them that this was 
impossible. Then they had essayed the middle states ; this endea- 
vor, also, after a more stubborn trial, they had virtually abandoned. 
The south, however, remained to them : and they resolved to make 
there a last effort. They were stimulated to this final enterprise by 
the servile character of a portion of her population, opening a door 
for domestic treason and warfare ; by the fact that a larger com- 



GENERAL PREVOST AT SAVANNAH. 115 

parative number of the free population were loyalists, than at the 
north ; and by the richness of portions of the soil, which furnished 
large supplies to Washington, as well as to the French fleet in the West 
Indies. It was hoped that if the south was overrun and conquered, 
it could be retained for the King, even if it became necessary to 
acknowledge the independence of the middle and eastern provinces. 
The Carolinas and Georgia were too rich a prize to be lightly 
abandoned : the stake was worth playing for, at least. Moved by 
these considerations, the English Generals resolved to transfer the 
war to those provinces. A sufficient force was to be reserved at the 
north to keep Washington in check : the remainder was to be 
embarked for a new and more dazzling field of enterprise. Was it 
blind destiny, or an overruling Providence that lured them on ? 

As an experiment. Lieutenant Colonel Campbell had been 
despatched from New York, towards the close of the year 1778, with 
twenty-five hundred men, to invest Savannah : while at the same 
time, General Prevost, who commanded the British troops in the 
Florldas, was ordered to march with all his force, and invade Geor- 
gia from the south. Colonel Campbell appeared in the Savannah 
river on the 23rd of December, 1778 ; and six days after effected a 
landing, under cover of the fleet. General Robert Howe, of the 
American Army, had hastily collected a force of about nine hundred 
regulars and militia, and with these he took a strong position, sur- 
rounded, except in front, by the river, and by morasses. A negro, 
however, betrayed a secret pass in his rear to the enemy, and being 
attacked on both sides at once, Howe was defeated, though not until 
after a desperate resistance. Nearly two-thirds of his little force 
were either killed or made prisoners. The town, the fort, the ship- 
ping in the river, and all the provisions, fell into the hands of the 
British. With what remained of his little army, Howe retreated 
into South Carolina. 

In the meantime, General Prevost had begun his march from 
East Florida, pursuant to the orders of General Clinton. After 
having conquered innumerable obstacles, he arrived at Fo"rt Sunbury, 
which he proceeded to invest. The fort soon surrendered. About 
this time, Colonel Campbell, who had set out also to reduce the fort, 
came up, and the two English corps effected a junction with 
mutual felicitations. General Prevost now proceeded to Savannah, 
where he assumed the chief command. Shortly after, he sent a 
ictachment to occupy Augusta. The loyalists in the upper part of 
South Carolina, animated by the appearance of the British at 
Augusta, collected, and began to march to join the royal standard, 



116 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

having first chosen for their leader Colonel Boyd. Their route was 
everywhere marked by pillage and flame. They had already 
crossed the Savannah, and were near the British posts, when Colonel 
Pickens, with a party of Carolinians, in pursuit, came up with them. 
The tories were routed with great slaughter. In consequence, the 
English abandoned Augusta, and fell back to Savannah. 

This retreat was the more advisable, because General Lincoln, 
whom congress had just appointed to the conniiand of the southern 
army, had arrived in the vicinity of Augusta, and encamped at 
Black Swamp. He had been selected at the recommendation of the 
Carolinians, on the first intimation of Clinton's designs agamst the 
south. The people now rose and took arms with alacrity to second 
him. He soon found himself at the head of about twenty-five hun- 
dred men. Sixteen hundred of these he despatched to the upper 
country, under the command of General Ashe. Prevost, gaining 
intelligence of this separation, resolved to attempt the destruction 
of the weaker corps, and accordingly, by a forced march, he came 
up with General Ashe, at the head of nine hundred regulars, and 
speedily defeated that officer. Most of those who escaped, dis- 
banded, so that but four hundred, out of the whole detachment, 
returned to Lincoln. This affair, in which the militia behaved 
shamefully, has been called the rout of Briar Creek. It occurred on 
the 3rd of March, 1779. 

Lincoln and Prevost, after this, remained watching each other 
until the beginning of May, when Lincoln, in order to overawe the 
loyalists in the upper comitry, advanced towards Augusta. Instantly 
Prevost formed the design of carrying the war into the heart of 
Carolina. He accordingly crossed the Savannah, and began to 
forage extensively, General Moultrie, whom Lincoln had left to 
watch the British, retiring before him. Astonished at his own suc- 
cess, bolder views now broke upon him, and he conceived the daring 
project of capturing Charleston itself In a few days, accordingly, 
after a forced march, he arrived within cannon-shot of that rich 
capital, which he instantly summoned to surrender. On this, all was 
consternation among the citizens : some were for an instant compli- 
ance, others wished to hold out against a storm. At last, amid these 
conflicting counsels, it was resolved to temporise for the present, 
trusting to the speedy arrival of Lincoln to raise the seige. This 
scheme succeeded. Prevost was still listening to discussions of 
the terms of the capitulation, when he received intelligence that 
Lincoln was approaching. It was now his own turn to be alarmed. 
He determined to retreat. This he eff"ccted bv crossing to the 



SIEGE OP SAVANNAH. 117 

neighboring islands of St. John and St. James. A succession of 
like fertile islands, contiguous to each other, but separated from the 
main, stretch along the sea-coast from Charleston to Savannah, and 
by availing himself of these, Prevost extricated himself from a 
dilemma, into which it is almost impossible to tell whether he was 
led more by boldness, than by rashness. Lincoln made no attempt 
to assail the retiring British, except by attacking the pass at Stono 
Ferry ; where, however, he met with a repulse. • The royal army 
now retired to Savannah. 

Thus, in a single campaign, had the British conquered the whole 
province of Georgia, besides devastating some of the richest parts 
of South Carolina and almost possessing themselves of its capital. 
It is true that the excesses committed by the royal troops, in the end 
inflamed the inhabitants against them ; but, at present, nothing was 
seen, nothing was talked of, but the supremacy of the English, The 
British officers continually remarked on the ease of conquering the 
south, compared with the more stubborn north. Miserable delusion ! 
But when Prevost wrote to Sir Henry Clinton that he had reduced 
the whole province of Georgia to abject submission, and that in 
Carolina he had destroyed innumerable splendid dwellings and freed 
four thousand negroes, the British General, inflamed by the magni- 
tude of the prize and the comparative ease Avith which it might be 
appropriated, determined to follow up in earnest the conquest of that 
splendid section of the country. In the meanwhile, in order to divert 
the public mind, he despatched that ruthless expedition against 
Portsmouth, in Virginia, of which we have already given an account. 

Before, however, Sir Henry Clinton could prepare to enter in 
person on a southern campaign, the Count d'Estaing arrived off 
Savannah, anxious to perform something showy and brilliant before 
he returned to Europe. We left him re-fitting at Boston in 
1778. After he had laid in his stores there, he sailed for the 
West Indies, where he was occupied, with various success, for nearly 
a year. About the first of September, 1779, he made his appearance 
on the coast of Georgia. The news of his arrival caused a delirium 
of exultation at Charleston. Lincoln immediately marched for 
Savannah. D'Estaing now landed his troops, and on the 15th of 
September the allies appeared under the walls of the town. Prevost 
was summoned to surrender. He asked twenty-four hours delay, 
during which time he was joined by a reinforcement of eight hun- 
dred men. He now expressed his determination to defend himself 
to the last extremity. On this d'Estaing began the siege in form. 
Tlie allies numbered nearly eight thousand j the British three thou- 



lis 



THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. 




Savannah in the year o^fE thousand, seven hundred and seventy-eight. 



sand. But the latter were defended by fortifications, which daily- 
strengthened beneath their assiduous labors. At length, on the 3rd 
of October, the besiegers mounted their first battery, and for the five 
succeeding days the bombardment was maintained with extraordi- 
nary vigor : fifty-three heavy cannon and nine mortars shook the 
earth with constant explosions ; carcasses were launched into the 
town, imparting flames wherever they struck ; women and children 
were killed by the falling roofs, or what is worse, were miserably 
crippled. Yet still the garrison betrayed no signs of surrender. The 
few breaches in their works they repaired, defying their enemy gal- 
lantly to the last. 

The season was now approaching when storms, so frequent and 
terrible in the autumn on that coast, rendered the situation of the 
French fleet extremely precarious. D'Estaing had been pursuaded, 
day after day, by the growing excitement of the siege, to postpone his 
departure ; but now he declared that the safety of the fleet precluded 
a longer delay. Before abandoning the expedition, however, it was 
resolved to attempt the British works by assault : an enterprise in 



SIEGE OF CHARLESTON. 119 

which d'Estaing was sanguine of success, although no considerable 
breach had been yet opened. Accordingly, on the 9lh, before day, 
the allies advanced to the storm in two columns, d'Estaing leading 
one, and Lincoln the other. It is said the English had received 
notice of the impending attack ; and the assertion is rendered proba- 
ble by the state of preparation in which they were found. For an 
hour the strife raged with terrific fury. A redoubt on the Ebenezer 
Road became the principal scene of the conflict. A French and an 
American standard were at last planted on the ramparts, but soon 
hurled down, with their brave defenders, by the soldiers in the place. 
In the end, the allies were forced to retreat, leaving, of the French, 
six hundred and thirty-seven, of the Americans, two hundred and 
forty-one, killed and wounded. In the height of the assault, Count 
Pulaski, charging at the head of his men, received a mortal wound, 
of which he died a few days after. The loss of the British, as they 
fought behind ramparts, was inconsiderable. On the 18th the siege 
was raised. Lincoln passed to the left bank of the Savannah, into 
South Carolina : d'Estaing embarked, and immediately left the 
coasts of America. Of this fatal aftair, impartial history is forced to 
record that the assault either took place too soon, or was put off 
too long. Had it occurred before Prevost was reinforced it would 
probably have been successful : had it been delayed until the trenches 
were further advanced, and practicable breaches made, the fortress 
must have fallen. Thus ended d'Estahig's career in America. In 
all his enterprises undertaken in conjunction with his allies he was 
unfortunate, partly from his own rashness, partly because restricted 
by instructions from home : in consequence his name has been 
regarded here with peculiar unpopularity and disfavor. He etfected 
little, yet was not wholly useless. His presence restrained the Bri- 
tish and made them avoid hazardous enterprises. Owing to his 
expected return from the West Indies the royal troops were with- 
drawn from Rhode Island and concentrated at New York ; while 
Clinton, from the same cause, postponed his long contemplated 
southern expedition, until d'Estaing had left America. 

No sooner, however, did the British General receive certain intel- 
ligence of d'Estaing's departure, than he set sail from New York, 
with between seven and eight thousand men, under convoy of Ad- 
miral Arbuthnot, who had arrived some weeks before with reinforce- 
ments. The fleet was at first separated by a tempest, but the ships 
finally arrived in Georgia about the end of January, 1 780. Thence 
th(^ re-united forces proceeded towards Charleston, and on the 11th 
of February landed on St. John's Island, about thirty miles south of 



120 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

that town. Proceeding with celerity, CHnton, by the end of March, 
was fully prepared for the siege. On the 21st, Admiral Arbutlniot, 
with the fleet, forced the passage defended by Fort Moultrie. On 
the 29th, Clinton crossed the Ashley, twelve miles above the town, 
and marching down, took post across the isthmus, a mile and a half 
distant behind the city. On the 1st of April ground was broken, 
and in a week afterwards batteries raised. On the 9th, Admiral 
Arbuthnot, taking advantage of a favorable wind, sailed up the 
harbor, and took a position within cannon shot of the town. Every- 
thing being now ready on the part of the British, and the city being 
liemmed etfectually in, a summons was sent to Lincoln to surrender. 
That General answered with spirit that he was determined to de- 
fend himself to the last. On this the English opened their fire. 

From the hour in which he had received the intimation of Clin- 
ton's approach, Lincoln had been busily engaged in putting Charles- 
ton in a state of defence. The old works were repaired : new 
fortifications erected. A chain of redoubts, lines and batteries was 
constructed, extending from the Ashley to the Cooper river, thus 
completely defending the peninsula on which Charleston stood. 
Eighty pieces of artillery guarded this line. On either side of the 
town, wherever a landing could be eflected, batteries were erected, 
which bristled with cannon. On these various works six thousand 
slaves had been actively employed. Meantime, the Governor, Mr. 
Rutledge, seconded Lincoln with all the powers of civil government, 
increased in this emergency, by a vote of the Assembly, to those of 
a dictatorship. The inhabitants Avere called out en masse, and con- 
fiscation threatened to those who refused. Nevertheless, there was 
among many a disposition to hold back : already they feared that 
the colonists would prove the weaker ; and, in consequence, the 
utmost exertions of the Governor and General could not raise the 
effective force of the garrison above six thousand. Of these, but two 
thousand, who were regulars, could be depended on. But there 
were strong hopes that reinforcements, which had been promised 
from North Carolina, would speedily arrive : indulging this expecta- 
tion, Lincoln returned a defiance to the summons of Clinton. Had 
it been certain that no succor would reach him, the American Gene- 
ral might have acted differently, and either made an honorable 
capitulation, or effected a retreat over the Cooper River, which as 
yet remained open to him. 

In a few days, however, this outlet was also closed. A 
party of cavalry and militia, who virtually guarded it, were attacked 
and uttterly routed, at Monk's Corner. The English now swarmed 



SIEGE OF CHARLESTON. 121 

over the whole country on the side of Cooper River opposite 
Charleston ; and thus were the Americans finally enclosed. By this 
time the second parallel had been opened, and the town began to 
crumble under the fire of the British batteries. Receiving an 
accession of reinforcements amounting to three thousand men, Clin- 
ton resolved to attack Fort Moultrie, which place, despairing of 
relief, and being too weak to resist an assault, surrendered on the 
7th of May. The third parallel had now been reached. Clinton 
seized this occasion to summon Lincoln anew. But the Americans 
would not consent to the terms of capitulation offered, and accord- 
ingly the conflict began again. The English batteries thundered 
incessantly : the fortifications sunk under repeated blows ; many of 
the guns were dismounted, and oflicers and soldiers were picked off 
if they showed themselves above the works. The town, all tliis 
while, suftered terribly. Bombs fell continually among the houses, 
whence flames almost hourly broke forth, and were with difficulty 
extinguished : no roof was safe, no place of refuge remained. The 
citizens began to clamor. The garrison lost heart. At last the 
inflexibility of Lincoln gave way, and on the 12th of May, articles 
of capitulation were signed. By these the garrison was allowed 
some of the honors of war : it was to march out of the town and 
deposit its arms in front of the works, but the drums were not to 
beat a British march, nor the colors to be uncased. The seamen 
and continentals were to be prisoners of war until exchanged : the 
militia were allowed to return to their homes as prisoners on parole : 
the citizens were also to be prisoners on parole, and, as well as the 
militia, were not to be molested in person or property. The officers 
were to retain their arms, baggage and servants. By this capitula- 
tion seven general officers ; ten continental regiments, much reduced ; 
three battalions of artillery ; four frigates ; and an immense quan- 
tity of bombs, balls and powder came into the hands of the English. 
It is computed that four hundred cannon, and six thousand troops, 
in all, were captured at the fall of Cliarleston. The blow was the 
severest one the cause of independence had yet received, 

Lincoln was almost universally blamed. One half the nation 
censured him for attempting to defend the town at all, and the other 
half found fault with him for not abandoning it before the rout at 
Monk's Corner. His best defence, perhaps, is in this very diflerence 
of opinion ; for if it was difficult, after the afiair, to tell what he 
should have done: how much more difficult must it have been 
during the progress of events. Besides, he had been promised 
reinforcements, which he depended on, but which never arrived. 
16 L 



122 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 



In popular communities an unfortunate General is too frequently- 
punished as an incompetent one, at least, by public opinion ; and 
such was the fate of Lincoln : but it is the province of history to 
correct these erroneous judgments, and declare the truth, however 
counter it may run to preconceived opinions. 

Clinton had no sooner taken possession of Charleston than he 
proceeded to follow up his success by the conquest of the state. He 
sent out expeditions to various quarters, all of which were success- 
ful. One, composed of about seven hundred horse and foot, com- 
manded by Colonel Tarleton, overtook and defeated, after a forced 
march, a body of continental infantry and a few horsemen, led by 
Colonel Benford, at the Waxhaws. A horrible scene of butchery 
ensued. The Americans, imploring quarter, were ruthlessly cut 




TARLETOX S QUARTEBS. 



down, until nearly every man was killed, or so severely wounded 
as to be unable to move. This massacre gave a tone of savageness 
to the future warfare in the south on both sides ; and, long after, 
when the colonists would express the cruelties of a barbarous foe, 
they called them Tarleton's quarters. 

These reverses struck terror far and wide through Carolina. The 
fall of Charleston, and the successive blows dealt throughout the 
state, paralyzed all resistance : even the patriots began to regard the 



AMERICAN VICTORY AT HANGING ROCK. 123 

south as iiTetrievably conquered. Clinton resolved to seize this favor- 
able crisis in the public sentiment, by the proclamation of a general 
amnesty and pardon, ending with an invitation to all citizens to 
renew their allegiance. By a sort of trick he strove to enroll the 
inhabitants in the army of the King. He freed all persons taken at 
Charleston, except the regulars, from their parole ; but immediately 
enjoined on them, as being now royal citizens, to take up arms for 
his Majesty. All persons who would not do this were to be treated 
as rebels. Regarding the colony as completely conquered, he soon 
after sailed for New York, leaving Cornwallis in command at the 
south. 

But the clause, in which it was sought to force every citizen to 
fight for the King, soon began to re-act with terrible force against 
the British. Men, who had but lately borne arms for the Congress, 
were not prepared to take the field against it : they would have 
been willing to remain neutral; but they were not to be drilled 
into instruments of oppression. A change in the public sentiment 
immediately began. Despair gave courage : a deadly animosity was 
nursed in secret. Many openly avowed their sentiments and fled : 
others dissembled for a time. But the great majority, so frail is 
human nature, were driven by their fears to swear allegiance 
to the royal government ; only the women were frank and heroic, 
for these, with a courage above that of the other sex, openly 
expressed their sentiments, and loaded with smiles of approval the 
few of their countrymen who dared to be sincere. 

A portion of those who preferred abandoning their homes to 
acknowledging the royal authority, met in North Carolina, and 
chose for their leader. General Sumpter, a man of enterprise, skill 
and chivalrous courage. He immediately began, on the state authori- 
ty, a partizan warfare. On the 10th of July, at the head of but one 
hundred and thirty-three men, he routed a detachment of royal 
forces and militia at Williamson's plantation. His force gradually 
swelled to six hundred men. He now made an unsuccessful attack 
on Rocky Mount, where a strong party of the enemy was posted ; 
but immediately afterwards met and almost utterly annihilated, at 
Hanging Rock, the Prince of Wales' regiment and large body of 
tories. These slight checks, however, did not intimidate Cornwallis, 
who was actively engaged in preparations to invade North Caro- 
lina. But meantime Congress and Washington had not been idle, 
and at that very moment an army was advancing from the north to 
oppose him, headed by the man who had subdued Burgoyne, the con- 
quering Gates. 



124 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

As soon as Washington had been apprised of the siege of Charles- 
ton, he had despatched the Earon de Kalb to the succor of that 
j)lace, with fourteen hundred regulars. That officer made every eftbrt, 
but in vain, to reach his destination in time. In passing through 
Virginia and North Carolina he was joined by the militia of those 
provinces, by which rehifo-rcements his army was raised very conside- 
rably. So large a force, in the eyes of Congress, fevored the hope 
of a successful struggle for the recovery of the south : and to give as 
much conftdence as possible to the army. Gates was appointed to the 
chief command, the prestige of whose name, it was thought, would 
ensure victory. Accordingly, on the 25tli of July, that officer joined 
the camp at Deep River. He immediately reviewed the troops, and 
without loss of time advanced to the Pedee. On entering South 
Carolina, he issued a proclamation, calling on all patriotic citizens 
to resort to his standard. So great was the confidence in his name, 
that mnnbers flocked to him, and on every side, the most unequivo- 
cal signs of a rising alarmed Cornwallis. That officer was at Cam- 
den, where he found that he must either retreat to Charleston, or 
give battle to his foe. His forces were but two thousand, of whom 
only fifteen hundred were regulars : while the army of Gates 
amounted to three thousand, six hundred and sixty-three, of whom 
about a thousand were regulars. Nevertheless, he chose the bolder 
resolution, and determined to give battle. On the night of the 15th 
of August, accordingly, he moved from his position, intending to 
assault the Americans in their camp ; but, by a singular coincidence, 
he met Gates half-way, coming, in like manner, to surprise him. A 
smart skirmish ensued in the darkness, which unfortunately destroyed 
the confidence of the American militia ; but eventually both armies 
drew oti", resolving to await daylight before they engaged in the 
deadly strife. Profound silence now fell over the landscape, no 
sound being heard except the occasional neigh of a horse, the cry 
of the sentinel, or the wind moaning among the lofty pines. 

The morning rose still and hazy. Cornwallis found himself, for- 
tunately, in an excellent position. His army covered a piece of firm 
ground, bounded on the right and left by morasses, parallel to which 
a highway ran through the centre of his position. He accordingly 
drew up his army in two divisions: the right, commanded by 
Colonel Webster, reached from one morass to the highway ; the 
left, led by Lord Rawdon, extended from the highway, to the other 
morass : the artillery was placed hi front of the highway, as it were, 
between the two divisions. Tarleton, with his cavalry, was on the 
right of the road, in readiness to charge or receive the enemy, as 



BATTLE OF CAMDEN. 125 

occasion might require. Gates divided his van-guard into three 
columns ; the right, the centre, and the left, commanded respectively 
by Generals Gist, Caswell, and Stevens. Behind the left column, 
which was composed of the Virginia militia, were posted the light 
infantry of Porterfield and Armstrong. Colonel Armand, with his 
cavalry, faced the legion of Tarleton. The continental troops of 
Delaware and Maryland formed the reserve. Unfortunately, just as 
the action was about to begin. Gates, not exactly liking the position 
of his left and centre columns, undertook to change them. The eagle 
eye of Cornwallis saw the advantage this error aflbrded him, and 
instantly, he hurled the veteran grenadiers of Webster on the still 
wavering line. The English advanced in splendid order, now pour- 
ing in their fire, now charging with the bayonet. For a while, the 
smoke shrouded the combatants from sight, but the suspense was 
soon over, for the Virginians, breaking wildly from the vapory 
canopy, were seen flying in all directions. Their rout exposed the 
flank of the next column, Avhich in turn gave way. Gates and 
Caswell made some efl"orts to check the panic, but in vain ; for 
Tarleton, coming down at a gallop, spread renewed terror and con- 
sternation among the fugitives, who plunged themselves, as a last 
hope, into the woods for safety. 

The whole shock of battle now fell on the reserves, the gallant 
regulars of Delaware and JNIaryland : and already their left flank was 
exposed, while, in front, a victorious foe poured down to the attack. 
Then was shewn the difference between veterans and militia, 
between discipline and the want of it ! Environed by foes, and left 
alone on that sanguinary field, the little band, not a thousand strong, 
still made good its ground. Opposing the enemy with a terrible fire, 
or by the push of the bayonet, they, for a while, withstood all his 
efforts. The Baron de Kalb led them several times to the charge, 
and they even regained, lost ground, and took some prisoners. A 
few hundred more of such veterans would have turned the fortunes 
of that bloody day. But their number was too small to produce a 
permanent effect ; and at last, surrounded on all sides, and pene- 
trated by cavalry, they were forced from the field. The Baron de 
Kalb fell in this desperate struggle mortally wounded, and was 
abandoned to the foe. The flight now became general. The British 
pursued the fugitives for the space of twenty-three miles, hewing 
mercilessly down all they overtook : and to this day, tradition bears 
testimony to the terrors of that bloody rout. 

The loss in this battle, for the Americans, was excessive, consider- 
ing the number of troops engaged : it was, according to the account 

T* 



126 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

of Lord Cornwallis, about eight hundred in killed, and one thousand 
ni prisoners. As the rovit and dispersion was so total, the American 
General could never tell what his real loss was ; but the English 
account is probably exaggerated. The British sullered in killed and 
wounded, three hundred and twenty-five. Gates remained on the 
field until the total rout of the militia, when, regarding the day 
lost, he retreated to Charlotte, about eighty miles distant, with only 
a few friends. The next day, about one himdred and fifty soldiers, 
the remnant of his army, arrived at the same place. With this 
slender force. Gates retreated to Salisbury, and finally to Hills- 
borough. 

Another disaster soon followed. Sumpter, a few days before the 
battle, had asked a reinforcement of four hundred men from Gates, 
to enable him to intercept a convoy of supplies, destined for Lord 
Cornwallis. He obtained the men, and succeeded in capturing the 
convoy. But hearing of the defeat at Camden, he began a hasty 
retreat up the Wateree, with his prisoners and stores. Tarleton 
gave pursuit, and owing to the negligence of the sentinels, surprised 
Sumpter in his camp, dispersing his force with a loss of between 
three and four hundred, and recovering all the captured stores. 

The defeat at Camden depreciated the reputation of Gates, as 
much as the capture of Burgoyne had exalted it. He passed at 
once from the extreme of popularity to that of odium. That a Gene- 
ral should succeed so signally in the one instance, and fail so disgrace- 
fully in the other, is a fact which has been considered inexplicable. 
But the secret of the paradox lies in the character of Gates. Though 
an acccomplished gentleman, and a finished ofiicer, he was not a 
great General, in any sense of the term. He entered on the northern 
campaign after the net had been spread which afterwards enclosed 
Burgoyne, and when all that was left for him to perform, was to 
conduct the drama gracefully to the end : this no man could do bet- 
ter. But when he came to operate in a difiereiit region of country, 
he shewed that want of adaptation to circumstances which is so fre- 
quently the ruin of military reputations. He hurried on, when he 
should have moved slowly : he relied on badly disciplined troops, 
when he ought to have waited until they were better drilled : he 
undertook to move militia in the face of a foe, a manoeuvre only to 
be performed by veteran troops. After the battle, his despondency 
was as excessive as his exhilaration before had been undue. In a 
word, his was one of those minds which, in ordinary times, like gay 
pleasure-barks, are safe enough, but which, when ditierent occasions 
arise, and the horizon darkens with tempests, lose tlieir equipoise 



DEFEAT OF MAJOR FERGUSON. 127 

and go down forever. One of the first acts of Congress, on hearing 
of the disaster of Camden, was to supersede Gates. Tiie choice of 
a successor was left to Washington, who selected General Greene, a 
man, as events proved, every way competent for the office. 

The victory at Camden left the British once more an undisputed 
supremacy, which Cornwallis proceeded to assert with terrible, if not 
impolitic rigor. Under his orders, every militia man who had borne 
arms with the British, and afterwards joined the Americans, was to 
be put to death ; and numbers of mihappy victims, in consequence, 
perished on the gallows. Those who had once submitted, but who 
had subsequently taken up arms, were to be imprisoned, and their 
property confiscated. The iron hoof of the conquerer was thus 
made to trample on the breast of the humblest as well as of the 
most proud. Despair took possession of the miserable inhabitants. 
Escape from this awful tyranny seemed hopeless. At first, beguiled 
or terrified into joining the party of the King ; then lured to that of 
Gates by the prospect of a speedy delivery from their oppressors ; 
and now again cast back, disarmed and powerless, into the merciless 
arms of the conquerer ; they saw no hope of relief miless by a mira- 
cle from heaven. 

The first gleam of success came from a victory won chiefly by 
militia, a species of force which, in this war, gained some of the 
most gallant triumphs, as well as caused some of the most dis- 
graceful defeats. Major Ferguson had been sent by Cornwallis, 
into North Carolina, to raise and embody the tories, a task which he 
executed with success. He was conducting his new levies to the 
royal camp, when he learned that General Clarke, of Georgia, after 
an unsuccessful attempt on Augusta, was retreating. Major Fergu- 
son instantly resolved to cut him off. But a party of mountaineers 
from North Carolina and Virginia, hastily assuming arms, intercepted 
Ferguson, himself, near Gilbert-town. Finding escape impossible, 
he fell back to King's Mountain, where he made a stand. The 
Americans advanced in three divisions. Ferguson gallantly repulsed 
the first with the bayonet: but while thus occupied, the second 
attacked him : this also he drove back. Meantime, the third had 
come into action; but while engaged with this, the other two rallied 
and returned to the charge. Ferguson now fell mortally wounded, 
and his men, struck with dismay, surrendered. In this action, the 
British lost one hundred and fifty killed, as many wounded, and eight 
hundred prisoners. The American loss was inconsiderable, except in 
the death of Colonel Williams. Cruelty begets cruelty, and smarting 
under the remembrance of Camden, the Americans selected ten of 



128 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. 

their prisoners, and hung them on the spot. After this, the victors 
disbanded and returned home. 

The success of this bold enterprise led to the beginning of that 
partizan warfare, which, from this time forward, was prosecuted with 
such success by the Americans. The two prominent leaders in this 
species of warfare, were Generals Sumpter and Marion. Sumpter 
was impetuous, chivalric, often rash, and brave to a fault : his ene- 
mies gave him the coarse but expressive nickname of the " game- 
cock." Marion was wary, subtle, ever on the watch, 'quick as 
lightning to advance or to retreat : the British, affecting to despise 
his superior caution, called him " the swamp fox." Sumpter, after 
the dispersion of his corps by Tarleton, raised a body of volunteers, 
and plunging boldly into the heart of South Carolina, maintained 
himself there for three months, harassing the enemy continually, and 
secm-ing his safety by the rapidity of his movements from point to 
point. At Broad River, Major Wemyss, at the head of a force of 
infantry and dragoons, came up with him ; but was totally defeated, 
and himself taken prisoner. vAt Tyger River, his old adversary, 
Tarleton, attacked him, but was beaten otf with loss. Wlien the 
British army went into winter quarters, Sumpter still kept the field, 
capturing parties sent out to forage, and dealing a blow wherever 
possible. Marion's movements, for a time, were less bold. Begin- 
ning, at first, with but a few men, his followers gradually increased 
to a respectable force : and with this he now began to traverse the 
country, often at night, and always with rapidity. His blows fell 
ni all directions, and where least expected. Tlie British, hearing of 
him at one place, would hasten to pursue him, but Marion, wheeling 
on their rear, would strike, perhaps, the very position they had 
abandoned. Often, at sunrise, he would be sixty miles from the 
place where he had been seen at smiset the night before. His little 
army varied continually, the men coming and returning as they 
found convenient : sometimes he had a hundred followers, some- 
times scarcely a dozen : in consequence, many of his best conceived 
enterprises had to be abandoned for want of troops. His influence, 
however, continued gradually extending : risking little, he in the 
end gained much: and when the war closed, perhaps no man, after 
Greene, stood higher in the estimation of the southern colonists, or was 
regarded as having contributed more to the success of the struggle. 

The victories at King's Mountain and Tyger River, induced 
Cornwallis, who at first, had advanced towards North Carolina, to 
fall back again on Camden. As he retired. Gates advanced. Another 
army, though small in number, had gradually gathered itself around 



BATTLE OF THE COWPENS. 129 

the defeated General. Concluding that active operations would be 
■ postponed until spring, Gates retired into Avinter quarters, at Char- 
lotte. Here he was when, on the 2nd of December, Greene arrived 
to supercede him. In this delicate affair both Generals acquitted 
themselves handsomely. Gates yielded up the command with 
dignified resignation, and Greene paid his predecessor the delicate 
compliment of confirming his standing orders. 

The new commander immediately proceeded to review his troops. 
He found them to consist of nine hundred and seventy continentals, 
and one thousand and thirteen militia. Of all these, however, there 
were but eight hundred properly clad and equipped for service. 
The artillery consisted of two brass field pieces, besides several of 
iron. The magazines were empty. The neighboring country was 
almost a waste, and provisions would have been difficult to procure 
even with money, but Greene had not a penny. This was a situa- 
tion to drive a General to despair. But Greene, of all the men of 
the Revolution, was next to Washington, the man of most equal 
mind. JNIisfortune had no power to depress, as success had no 
capacity to elate him. He began immediately, as Washington had 
done at Cambridge, to remedy the evils that surrounded him. He 
reformed the Quartermaster's department ; he inspired confidence in 
the men, yet at the same time tightened the reins of discipline : he 
made himself aquainted with the country in which he had come to 
operate ; and, as a preliminary measure, appointed Kusciusko to 
prepare flat-bottomed boats, to have at hand, in which to cross the 
numerous rivers with which the two Carolinas are intersected. 

His first movement was to despatch Morgan west of the Catawba, 
in order to encourage the inhabitants in that quarter. Morgan's 
force consisted of three hundred regulars, commanded by Lieutenant 
Colonel Howard, the light dragoons, of Captain Washington, and 
ten companies of militia from Virginia, composed chiefly of old con- 
tinentals. Greene, after making this detachment, moved his own 
camp down the Pedee. He was here about seventy miles north- 
east from Wynnsborough, where Cornwallis lay awaiting reinforce- 
ments ; Morgan was on the Pacolet, about fifty miles north-west of 
Cornwallis. In these relative positions of the three armies, the 
British General determined to advance on North Carolina, and in 
his way, to strike at one of the American divisions, while unsup- 
ported by the other. He had just been joined by General Leslie, 
with reinforcements, enabling him thus to assume the offensive. 
Accordingly he moved north-westward, between the Catawba and 
Broad Rivers. Meantime he detached Tarletou to attack Morgan. 
17 



130 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

It will be seen, from the route chosen by Cornwallis, that even if 
Morgan escaped Tarleton, there was a cnance of his being inter- 
cepted by Cornwallis himself. 

On the 14th of January, 17S1, General Morgan, for the first time, 
learned his danger. Though pursued by a much superior foe, he 
resolved nevertheless to give battle. For this purpose he halted at 
a place called the Cowpens. He drew up his best troops, consisting 
of the regulars and old continentals, in number between four and 
five hundred men, on an eminence in an open wood. In their rear, 
on the descent of the hill, he posted Washington's cavalry, and 
some mounted militia men from Georgia. On these two corps 
rested his hopes of victory. The militia were posted in front, to 
receive the first shock of battle, with orders to give a single fire as 
the enemy approached, and then fall back, firing by regiments, until 
they had passed the regulars, on whose right they were ordered 
to form. 

Tarleton began the attack with his usual impetuosity, his men 
shouting as they advanced. The militia fell back, as ordered. The 
British, pressing their advantage, rushed gallantly on, and with their 
superior numbers soon outflanked the little line of continentals. 
Perceiving this, Howard, who commanded them, ordered the com- 
pany on his right to change its front so as to face the enemy on its 
flank. The order was misunderstood, and the company fell back : 
on which, the whole line, adopting the error, began to retreat, but 
slowly and in good order. At this crisis General Morgan galloped 
in person to the head of the line, and ordered it to retire over the 
brow of the hill to where the cavalry was posted. Believing victory 
theirs, for they looked on this movement as a retreat, the British 
dashed impetuously forward and in some disorder ; but they had 
scarcely crossed the hill when the Americans suddenly halted, with- 
in thirty yards, and gave them a withering volley. At this unex- 
pected check, the royal troops halted in some confusion. A moment 
would have restored their confidence ; but Howard did not give it to 
them : instantly seeing his advantage, he ordered his men to charge 
with the bayonet. The solid front of steel bore every thing before it. 
The British line was broken. At the same moment the enemy's 
cavalry, who, the instant the militia began to retire, had galloped in 
pursuit, were charged by Washington, and the rout of the royal 
troops became general on all sides. Both Howard and Washington 
pressed their advantage. The latter pursued the flying enemy for 
some distance and in the eagerness of pursuit, had nearly paid for 
his temerity by his life. In this action the British lost one hundred 



BATTLE OP THE COWPENS. 



131 




BATTLE OF THE COWPEXS. 



killed, and over five hundred prisoners. Two field pieces, two 
standards, eight hundred muskets, and numerous baggage wagons 
and dragoon horses fell into the hands of the Americans. The vic- 
tors lost but eighty men in killed and wounded. For the number 
of persons engaged this was one of the most brilliant victories of the 
war: and in its consequences was of almost incalculable importance. 
It deprived Cornwallis of one-fifth of his army. Had Greene been 
in a condition to follow it up, might have led to the total overthrow 
of the British supremacy in the Carolinas : but the American Gene- 
ral had scarcely two thousand men, and most of these were militia, 
a force with which it would have been madness to have sought the 
foe. The army that Gates lost at Camden would have been 
invaluable to his successor in this crisis. 

The battle field at Cowpens was about the same distance from the 
fords of Catawba as was the Camp of Lord Cornwallis ; and as it 
was necessary to cross the Catawba before he could re-unite with 
Greene, an event now indispensable for the safety of both, Morgan 
lost no time in pushing for the fords. He arrived there on the 23rd, 
and immediately crossed. But Cornwallis was close on his rear. 
That officer had devoted a day to collecting the fugitives from the 
Cowpens, and had then hurried forward to the Catawba, hoping to 
overtake Morgan before the latter passed it. Finding the American 



132 THE WAR OF INDEPE'NDENCE. 

General had already crossed, the British commander resolved to 
follow up the chase ; for miless he could prevent the junction of 
Morgan and Greene, the fruits of Camden were already lost. That 
he might move with the more celerity he destroyed liis baggage. 
On the morning of the 1st of February, having been detained two 
days by rains, which had swollen the river, he forced a passage, 
defeating the militia under Davidson, who had been left to guard 
the stream. The retreat of the Americans that ensued is one of the 
most memorable in history. 

Greene, on receiving intelligence of the victory at the Cowpens, 
detached Stevens with his brigade of Virginia militia to escort the 
prisoners taken in the conflict, to Charlottcville, Virginia. He then 
bent the whole force of his genius to effect a junction between the 
two divisions of his army. For this purpose he left General Huger 
in command of the division which he had hitherto accompanied in 
person, ordering him to retreat on Salisbury, where he hoped to 
bring Morgan to join him : and then hurried himself, almost unat- 
tended, to the camp of the latter individual, where he arrived just 
before Cornwallis forced the Catawba. He now retreated with 
Morgan's little force to the Yadkin, the British General struggUng 
to reach it first. Greene, however, arrived on its banks in advance 
and immediately crossed ; but so close was the enemy behind, that 
the van of the one army reached the shore as the rear of the other 
left it. Here chance again interposed in favor of the Americans. 
The Yadkin was already swollen, but in the night it swelled still 
more, and being without boats, the British could not keep up the 
pursuit. Accordingly Greene had a moment's respite, which he 
employed in eflecting a junction with Huger. 

Thus foiled in his hope of cutting off the division of Morgan, from 
that of Huger, Cornwalhs, after some hesitation, resolved by throw- 
mg himself between Greene and Virginia, to force that officer to 
a general action before the reinforcements known to be preparing 
for him in Virginia could arrive. At present, the army of Greene 
numbered but two thousand ; that of Cornwallis, nearly one-third 
more : consequently the latter, in a pitched battle, was certain to 
crush the former. The position of Lord Cornwallis favored the 
design. Unable to cross the Yadkin after Greene, he had marched 
up that river, and effected a passage near its source. This placed 
him nearer than his rival to the fords of the Dan River, which still 
lay between Greene and safety : and as he was informed there were 
no boats below by which the Americans could cross, he felt sure 
of his prey. 



GRUENe's retreat in north CAROLINA. 133 

The nearest ferry to Greene was Dix's, fifty miles off; and it 
was about equidistant from the two armies. Lower down the Dan, 
and about seventy miles from Greene, were two other ferries, only 
four miles apart. By retreating on these lower ferries, a considera- 
ble start would be gained on Cornwallis. The only difficulty was 
in the want of boats, in which to cross. To collect a sullicient num- 
ber, an express was sent ahead, which succeeded, with infinite labor, 
in procuring the required quantity. One thing more remained to be 
done. It was necessary to deceive CornwaUis as long as possible 
with respect to the route taken by the main body of the Americans; 
and accordingly a light corps was formed of the cavalry, and a 
number of picked infantry, the command of the whole being given 
to Colonel Williams, with orders to form a rear-guard, and take the 
road to Dix's, while Greene quietly drew off in front towards the 
lower ferries. The stratagem fully succeeded. Cornwallis pressed 
on, assured that the main body of his enemy was before him, and 
certain of being able to cut it to pieces when arrested by the Dan. 
To increase the deception, Williams hung back close on the rear of 
his pursuers, his own men and those of Cornwallis frequently being 
within musket shot. At last, thinking time had been afforded 
Greene to cross the Dan, Williams abandoned the road to Dix's, 
and pushed for the lower ferry. Cornwallis, now first perceiving 
the trick of which he had been a victim, pressed furiously in his 
rear. It is said that both the British and Americans marched 
forty miles in the last twenty-four hours ; and that the escape of 
Williams was so narrow, that his rear had scarcely touched the 
northern bank of the Dan when the enemy reached the southern 
one. Williams crossed on the 14th of February ; Greene had crossed 
two days before. 

By this masterly retreat Greene regained the base of his opera- 
tions, and threw himself in the way of reinforcements ; while Corn- 
wallis was drawn away from his communications, and lured into a 
hostile country. The merit of this achievement is increased when 
wfe consider that it was executed in winter, through deep and frozen 
roads, and that the Americans were almost naked, and but scantily 
supplied with provisions. On the other hand, the British troops 
were well clothed and well fed. The disastrous consequences of 
the retreat, to Cornwallis, soon began to be seen. That officer at 
first had advanced to Hillsborough, and issuing a proclamation, in 
which he asserted he had driven Greene out of North Carolina, 
called on the inhabitants to acknowledge the royal authority. But 
the American General, having been reinforced by six himdred 

M 



134 THE WAR OF INDKPENDENCE. 

militia, resolved to turn on his foe, and on the IStn of Fehriuiry, 
re-crossed the Dan. He did not take tliis step a moment too soon. 
There had always been a large number of loyalists in North Caro- 
lina, and these, now animated by the presence of Cornwallis, began 
to show symptoms of taking arms. To favor their rising, and con- 
duct them afterwards to Camp, the British General despatched 
Tarleton to Haw River, where the greatest numbers of these tories 
dwelt ; but Lieutenant Colonel Lee and General Pickens having 
been sent by Greene to frustrate this movement, and arriving first, 
surprised and totally cut to pieces the royalists already up, and by 
the terrible example prevented others from rising. Tarleton himself 
narrowly escaped being intercepted, and was only saved by an 
express sent, by Cornwallis, to give him warning. 

A fortnight was now spent by the two armies in manoeuvreing in 
face of each other : the object of one being to approach more nearly 
the district occupied by the loyalists, and the aim of the other being 
to frustrate this. In the course of this fortnight Greene, fearing a 
surprise, changed his camp every night. His light troops, during the 
same period, signalized themselves by the most daring conduct, and 
were of incalculable value. At last, having received a portion of 
the reinforcements he had been waiting for, the American General 
resolved to gratify his adversary, whose great object, from the hour 
when he crossed the Catawba had been to bring General Greene to 
battle. On the 14th of March, accordingly, the American army 
advanced to Guildford Court-House, and there awaited the British, 
who were but eight miles otf. 

The ensuing day broke clear and calm. Early in the morning, 
the approach of Cornwallis was made known, and Greene proceeded 
to draw up his men in order of battle. The hill on which Guildford 
Court-House stands, slopes downwards with an undulating sweep, 
for nearly half a mile to a little valley, through which runs a rivulet. 
Near the foot of this hill, and behind a fence, Greene posted his first 
line, consisting of two brigades of North Carolina militia. About 
three hundred yards in the rear of these, in a wood, half way up the 
hill, the second line, consisting of two brigades of Virginia troops, was 
drawn up. The third line was at the top of the hill, three hundred 
yards behind the second line, and was composed of the regulars, the 
Virginia brigade on the right, and the Maryland brigade on the left. 
Washington's cavalry guarded the extremities of the right flank : 
Lee's legion, with Campbell's riflemen, were on the left flank. 
These three able officers were stationed in the woods at the ends of 
the first line. The artillery, except two pieces, under Captain Sin- 







««». 



^ 

^ 



BATTLK OF GUILDFORD COURT-HOUSE. 135 

gleton, which were pushed forward in front of the first line, was 
with the regulars, at the top of the hill. 

About one o'clock the British came in sight, and shortly after, the 
artillery of the two armies began the action. Cornwallis, relying 
on the discipline and tried courage of his troops, resolved to trust the 
struggle to a single impetuous charge, and accordingly, having formed 
his line of battle, pushed his columns across the brook, and the dif- 
ferent corps, deploying to right and left, were soon formed in line. 
The instant this was done, they began to advance. Greene had 
hoped that the militia, protected by the fence, would at least be able 
to give the enemy two or three fires before they fled ; but the impo- 
sing front and the loud huzzas of the approaching foe, struck a panic 
to their hearts : and when the grenadiers, throwing in a deadly vol- 
ley, levelled their bayonets and rushed on, the militia, without 
waiting for the shock, fled, throwing away their still loaded guns. 
In vain Lee spurred among them, and endeavored to allay their 
terror ; in vain other officers exhorted and threatened : the fugitives 
could not be stopped, but flung themselves, mad with fear, into the 
woods. Cheering as they advanced, the British now poured onwards, 
and soon came up with the second line. But here they met a 
momentary check. Undismayed by the flight of the North Caro- 
linians, the gallant Virginians, sheltered, in part, behind the trees, 
kept up a galling and incessant fire. In numerical force, however, 
their assailants were far superior, and at last, the right flank began 
to give ground. It did not, however, fall back directly, but swung 
around, as on a pivot, on its other extremity. There, on the left, 
the retiring forces of Lee and Campbell, assisting the militia, main- 
tained the battle with stubborn resolution, and as yet did not yield 
an inch. 

By the retreat of the right of the second line, however, a portion 
of the third and last line, consisting of Gunby's first Maryland 
regiment, was exposed to the British, who now came dashing up the 
hill, assured of victory. But here, for the first time, they met vete- 
rans, like themselves. A shattering volley made them recoil, and 
before they could recover themselves, the bayonet was upon them. 
They broke and fled. Could Gunby have been now sustained, the 
rout would have been complete. But his presence was wanted to 
arrest ruin and disaster in another quarter : for while he had been 
sustaining his position, the left of the second line, after a gallant 
resistance, had finally given way, like the right, and fallen back on the 
second Maryland regiment, forming the left of the third line. This 
gave way shamefully at the first onset. But, at this crisis, Gunby 



136 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

wheeled his Uttle band through a belt of saplings to his left, 
and came unexpectedly on the victorious British, A desperate 
struggle ensued. At last, Washington galloped to the rescue with 
his cavalry, and the enemy began to waver, on which Gunby's 
regiment threw in the bayonet. The shock was irresistible. The 
British fled, pursued by the Americans, and the day would have 
been irretrievably lost, if Cornwaliis, desperate at approaching 
defeat, had not opened his artillery on the driving mass of fugitives 
and pursuers, and by the sacrifice of foe and friend alike, arrested the 
torrent. 

That part of the British force first repulsed by Gunby, had now 
rallied : the wreck of the battalion, defeated on the left, was being 
gathered and re-formed, and soon nearly the whole British force 
was again in the field, though shattered and disheartened. Corn- 
waliis, resolute to conquer, prepared to renew the attack. With 
disciplined troops, Greene would not have feared for the result. But 
the conduct of more than half his men had been so digraceful that 
he thought it best not to hazard the day further ; and accordingly 
drew ofi', retiring in good order beyond Reedy Fork, where he 
halted three miles from the field of battle. Waiting here, until he 
had collected his stragglers, he then retreated to his camp at 
Troublesome Creek. The last to leave the field of battle were Lee 
and Campbell, who continued skirmishing long after all others had 
retired. 

In this battle, the loss of the Americans was two hundred and 
seventy, of which the principal part fell on the regulars. The 
British lost nearly six hundred, a fourth of their number. The vic- 
tory was unquestionably with Cornwaliis, though the Americans 
suffered rather a repulse than a defeat. In its effects, however, tlie 
battle of Guildford Court-House answered very nearly the purposes 
of a triumph for the Americans. " Another such victory," said 
Fox, in the House of Commons, " would ruin the British army." 
Immediately after the battle, Cornwaliis began retreating, and when 
Greene, a few days subsequently, pushed forward Lee to harass his 
rear, this retreat became a virtual flight. Abandoning his wounded, 
Cornwaliis retired with such preciphation, that the American Gene- 
ral, notwithstanding he urged the chase with all his speed, could 
not overtake the fugitive. 

After a painful march. Lord Cornwaliis reached Wilmington, on 
the 7th of April, Here he called a council of officers, to decide 
whether to advance on Virginia, or retreat towards South Carolina. 
Considerable diversity of opinion prevailed, but on the whole, a 



CAPTURE OF THE BRITISH POSTS. 137 

majority favored the advance on Virginia. Accordingly, after resting 
his troops for about three weeks, the British General directed his 
march on Petersburg. In this emergency, Greene hesitated for a 
while what course to take. If he followed Cornwallis into Virginia, 
he abandoned the Carolinas to their fate : if he returned to the Caro- 
linas, he left Virginia an easy prey to Cornwallis. He reflected 
that the line of posts which the English had established from Ninety- 
Six to Charleston, was the real base of their operations, and that if, 
by returning to South Carolina, he could wrest them from the enemy, 
their loss would be a greater evil to Cornwallis, than any conquests 
elsewhere could compensate. Besides, the militia positively refused 
to follow Cornwallis into Virginia, and thus abandon their own 
homes to destruction. Moreover there was in a return to Soutli 
Carolina a boldness which might lead the enemy to believe Greene 
was acting fro.m secret reasons, which they could not comprehend. 
Actuated by these reasons, the American General abandoned the 
pursuit of Cornwallis, and retracing his steps, shifted the seat of war 
from North to South Carolina. 

The wisdom of this decision was vindicated by the result. Corn- 
wallis, after ravaging a portion ofVirghiia, found himself, at lasi, 
assailed by a new army, at a vast distance from his base, and being 
equally unable to retreat or advance, was compelled to shut himself 
up in Yorktown, where he fell a comparatively easy prey to tlie 
Americans. Greene, on the contrary, by his return to the south, 
inspired the patriots there with renewed courage ; while the royal 
forces, and the loyalists were correspondingly depressed. Leaving 
Cornwallis for the present, we shall follow the fortimes of Greene. 

On the 5th of April, 1781, the American General began his march 
to Camden, his intention being to force Lord Rawdon, the successor 
of Cornwallis, to abandon that post. Lee, with his legion, was sent 
in advance, with orders to join Marion. These two officers had 
acted together the preceding year in the attack on Georgetown ; 
and they now united to reduce Fort Watson, one of the chain of 
British posts to which we have just alluded. On the 22nd of April, 
after eight days siege, the place surrendered. On the 12th of the 
succeeding month, these two leaders reduced another of these posts. 
Fort Motte ; and three days after. Fort Granby capitulated to Lee, 
That active officer now proceeded to the neighborhood of Augusta, 
where, joining his legion to the forces of Pickens, who commanded 
a body of militia there, the two leaders succeeded in compelling the 
British garrison at the place to capitulate on the 5th of June. 
Marion, in the meantime, had marched on Georgetown, which was 
18 M* 



13S THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

evacuated by the enemy, on his approach. In tliis manner, the 
chain of forts forming the base of the English army's operations, 
was gradually broken up. 

Immediately after detaching Lee, Greene, with his army reduced 
to about eleven hundred men, made his appearance at Hobkirk Hill, 
a mile from Camden. On the 25th of April, Lord Rawdon, who, 
bold and able, was no despicable successor of Cornwallis, sallied 
out to attack him. Greene had taken a strong position, which he 
had partly entrenched ; but Rawdon, making a circuit, came down 
on his left flank, which was exposed. The English marching com 
pact il^ single column, Greene resolved to redeem the day by assail- 
ing them on both flanks, while Washington should turn their right 
and assault them in the rear. The charge of the Americans was so 
fierce that the British gave way at first, and a terrific fire of grape- 
shot on their rear, from an American battery, increased their 
disorder. Rawdon, as a last resort, called up his reserves, who, 
nothing intimidated, advanced with tumultuous huzzas ; this restored 
the spirits of the others, and for a while the two armies, meeting in 
mutual shock, swayed alternately to and fro. At last a Maryland 
regiment gave way. The panic spread infectiously through the 
whole line. Several attempts were made by the oflicers to rally, 
but in vain : the English bayonet allowed no respite : the retreat 
became general. Washington, who had gained the British rear, 
finding his companions retiring, was forced in turn to abandon the 
day, though not until he had secured several prisoners. Greene, 
after his repulse, retired on Gum Swamp, about five miles from the 
field ; Rawdon fell back to Camden, in which place he shut him- 
self up. In this affair the British lost two hundred and fifty-eight, 
in killed, wounded and missing ; the Americans about an equal 
number. 

It was Rawdon's desire to retain Camden as the centre of his 
operations ; but the capitulation of Fort Watson, together with the 
threatened loss of Forts Motte, Granby and Orangeburg, all posts 
situated in his rear, made it necessary to retire on Charleston. Ac- 
cordingly, on the 9th of May, he rased the fortifications, and aban- 
doned the place. Receiving inteUigence on his retreat of the capture 
of the three forts mentioned above, he continued his retrograde move- 
ment to Eutaw Springs. In the meantime Greene, perceiving that his 
adversary had abandoned the upper country, marched on Ninety- 
Six, intending first to reduce that post, the only one left to the King, 
and then follow up the fugitives. But the fort being unusually 
btrong, could only be taken by regular approaches, and in the inter- 



THE BATTLE OF EUTAW SPRINGS. 139 

val Rawdon, having been reinforced with three regiments from 
Ireland, feU himself sufficiently able to advance to its relief. Greene, 
hearing of his approach with a superior force, resolved to hazard an 
assault, in hopes to carry the place thus ; but he was repulsed with 
loss ; and now, no other resource benig left, he broke up his camp 
and retreated. Rawdon, on his arrival at Ninety-Six, finding the 
place not tenable against a long continued siege, abandoned it, and 
thus the British became dispossessed of their last post in the upper 
country. The royal leader now retired to Orangeburg, and Greene 
took possession of the heights of the Santee. In these positions the 
two hostile armies continued during the hot and sickly season that 
ensued, the usual attendant of a Carolina summer. It was during 
this momentary respite that Colonel Hayne was executed at Charles- 
ton, on the 10th of August, 1781, for having borne arms on the side 
of the Americans, after signing the deceitful declaration of Sir Henry 
Clinton. The tragic story is familiar to all, and we will not rehearse 
it here. It lent additional fury to the already savage strife, giving 
a keener poison to the barbed and envenomed arrows of war. 

In the begimiing of September, on the first symptoms of relaxa- 
tion in the excessive heat, Greene, now reinforced by the neighbor- 
ing militia, left his camp and began to push the enemy back on 
Charleston. The British retired step by step, forced by the skilful 
manoeuvres of their antagonist, until, on the 7th of September, they 
made a temporary stand at Eutaw Springs. Here, on the next day, 
Greene attacked them. The royal commander formed his troops in 
two lines ; the American leader placed his militia first, and support- 
ed them behind with regulars. At first the battle was well con- 
tested on both sides, but finally the American militia gave way ; on 
this the English left, too eager to pursue, broke the continuity of 
their line by advancing. Greene saw the favorable crisis, and 
instantly precipitating his tried veterans on the gap in the line, the 
whole British army, struck with sudden panic, gave way, corps 
tumbling over corps, in their haste to reach their entrenchments. 
Upwards of five hundred of them had already been taken prisoners. 
Suddenly a portion of the fugitives reached a stone house, into 
which, with the quickness of thought, they threw themselves, others 
rallied behind the garden paUsades, others in a thick copse wood 
close by. This happy movement saved the British army from 
utter ruin. The retreat was checked : the battle began anew. But 
all the eftbrts of the Americans to dislodge the enemy from their 
strong position were unavailing : and in the end they drew off their 
forces, after having suffered terribly in the contest to gam possession 



140 THE WAK OP THE REVOLUTION. 

of the house. The loss of both parties was very severe in this 
action : the Americans had five hundred killed, wounded and miss- 
ing ; the English, eleven hundred. 

This battle may be considered the virtual termination of the war 
in the south, as the capture of Cornwallis, about the same time, 
concluded that in the north. Skirmishes continued to occur fre- 
quently between the outposts of the two armies ; but the British 
after this were never able to make any considerable stand. The 
spell of their supremacy was broken ; their own confidence deserted 
them ; and the population, in all sections of the state, deeming the 
royal cause ruined, openly joined the Americans. After the battle, 
the English retired to the vicinity of Charleston, and for the rest of 
the war confined themselves to their strong posts. Less than two 
years had passed since Clinton vauntingly wrote home that the 
Carohnas were permanently annexed to the crown; and in that 
time the genius of a single man, aided by the exertions of a portion 
of the inhabitants, had redeemed the conquered state. The admira- 
ble conduct of Greene, throughout the whole of this contest, earns 
for him in history the first rank after Washington as a military 
commander. Equal to every emergency, whether of disaster or 
success, he never lost the even balance of his mind ; and by his un- 
dismayed front supported the hopes, and re-kindled the confidence 
of the desolated south. Beginning his career with but the wreck of 
an army, he closed at the head of a body of the best disciplined 
troops in America. His forces, in this period of time frequently fluc- 
tuated from a General of Division's command to that of a Colonel's ; 
yet he never could be entrapped at odds by his foe. Though often 
repulsed, he was never ruinously defeated ; and even his checks he 
managed to transmute into virtual victories, by the alembic of his 
genius. Whether he retreated or advanced, he was in the end the 
winner. 




CAI-tOftE OF TQE GENERAL MONK BY TUB UYDER AIXT. 



BOOK V. 



TO THE CLOSE OF THE CONTEST. 

HE fourth act of the revolutionary 
drama had now closed, and, like all 
the preceding ones, though opening so 
promisingly for England, had ended in 
J defeat and gloom. The battle of Tren- 
ds ton had first checked the career of her 
' "^arms, when apparently in the full tide 

^_^^^_^^^^-_^_ of irresistible conquest. The capture 

of Burc.o;;;^dnex7 followed, rendering abortive her designs on 
1 eastrstLs. The battle of Monmouth, m the succeedmg year, 




142 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

had taught CUnton that, in the north, he must confine his acquisi- 
tions to the territory immediately around the city of New York, 
The expedition against the south, the last resort of the ministry, had 
also failed. It now remained but for the proud army of Cornwallis 
to be annihilated, to convince all, even the most obstinate, that the 
conquest of America was a hopeless task. Already this event cast 
its weird shadow ahead. But, before we enter on the story of that 
transaction, so glorious for the Americans, and so decisive in termi- 
nating the war that it may be regarded as the final catastrophe of 
the drama, it is necessary to go back a period in our history, and 
resuming the course of events in the north, bring them down to the 
present time, in order that the stream of narrative hereafter may 
flow clear and unchecked. 

For two years subsequent to the battle of Monmouth, the military 
operations in the north were comparatively tame and unproductive. 
In part, this was the result of the want of troops, money and provi- 
sions on the American side, the causes for which we shall explain 
more at length during the course of this chapter. But in part also 
it was owing to a general disposition to await the course of events 
in the south. The rival armies, in fact, during these two years, may 
be said to have stood at gaze, like opposite factions in an amphithe- 
atre, watching the result of a combat between two formidable 
champions on the stage. As one side triumphed its friends took 
new hope : as success crowned the other they desponded. For a 
portion of this period, moreover. Sir Henry Clinton was actively 
engaged in person in the south, and those he left in command at 
New York thought the number of their troops insufficient for offen- 
sive opera-tions. For most of this time, therefore, the war was but a 
war of skirmishes. It is owing to this that we can consider the 
action of the revolutionary struggle as forming a complete dramatic 
whole, of which each period naturally grows out of the preceding, 
the story advancing with accelerated interest and increasing in im- 
portance until the climax is reached in the capture of Cornwallis. 

The stand taken by France in favor of the colonies resulted 
eventually, as the English Cabinet had feared, in drawing Spain and 
Holland into the contest against Great Britain. All these powers 
consulted rather their own passions and interests than those of 
America in thus embarking in her cause; and more than once it was 
to be feared that they would, on gaining their ends, desert her and 
retire from the conflict. For the first two years of the alliance, 
France occupied herself in contending with England for supremacy 
in the West Indies and on the European seas, the abortive expedi- 



NAVAL BATTLES. 



143 



tion of d'Estaing being the only one she sent to the aid of her 
repubhcan ally. It is foreign to our present purpose to narrate the 
different encounters between the English and French fleets, or to 
describe the siege of Gibraltar, these being events more properly 
belonging to European history. The rise and history of the armed 
neutrality we shall, in lik3 manner, pass over. 




COMMODORE JOHN PAUL JOMS 



A subject more germain to our theme is the story of our own 
naval successes during most of the war. From the first collision 
between the colonies and mother country, innumerable privateers 
had swarmed the ocean ; the damage done to British commerce by 
which has been computed at a hundred millions. One of the first 
acts of Congress had been to establish a few national armed ships. 
This force, though small, had proved very efficient, and lost nothing 
in comparison even with the vaunted English navy. The various en- 
counters between the American and British vessels would be too 
numerous to mention in detail. A few will suffice to show the spirit 
with which the strife was carried on at sea. On the 7th of March, 
1778, Captain Biddle, in a thirty-six gun frigate, accompanied by four 
smaller armed ships, fell in with a royal man-of-wai of sixty-four 
gmis and engaged her. The other American vessels could not come 



144 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

into action, and hence Captain Biddle's flag ship had to bear the 
brunt of the fight. Nobly did she maintain her part. Firing three 
broadsides where her adversary did one, she sliowed no signs of 
succumbing, when, about twenty minutes after the battle began, she 
suddenly blew up. Only four of her crew were saved, and these 
could never explain the cause of the disaster. Her gallant and chiv- 
alrous commander perished in her ; but the country, even after the 
lapse of seventy years, has not ceased to regret his fate. Another 
naval conflict, even more remarkable, was fought on the 22nd of 
September, 1779, between the Bon Homme Richard and the Sera- 
pis. In this conflict, Paul Jones, in command of the former ship, 
after two hours hard fighting, during which his own vessel was 
reduced to a sinking condition, forced his antagonist, though superior 
in weight of metal, to surrender. This action occurred in sight of 
the English coast, and is universally regarded, on account of the 
obstinacy with which it was fought, as one of the most memorable 
in history. Another celebrated action was the one between the Hy- 
der Ah and General Monk in Delaware Bay, April the Sth, 17S2. 
The Monk had been ravaging the commerce of the bay for some 
time, when Lieutenant Barney in the Hyder Ali, left Philadelphia 
to chastise the insolent foe. The Monk struck, with a loss of twenty 
killed and thirty-six wounded. The Hyder Ali had four killed and 
eleven wounded. The naval successes of America filled Europeans 
with astonishment; accustomed to see English ships nearly always tri- 
umph over those of equal force belonging to other nations, they 
could not understand why a handful of rude colonists, settled at the 
other end of the world, should suddeifly attain such a superiority at 
sea. But they did not examine the subject, or their wonder would 
have ceased. The American mercantile marine had long nourished 
a hardy, brave and daring set of seamen, who, on finding their 
peaceful vocation destroyed by the war, naturally crowded the pri- 
vateers and national armed ships as their only remaining source of 
livelihood. Other and richer nations might build ships, but they 
were sure to want men afterwards : the Americans had the men, and 
only required the ships. In this single fact lies the whole secret of 
our naval superiority then and since. 

The alliance with France had as yet not only proved of little ser- 
vice to America, but on the contrary, in one respect at least, had 
injured her prospects. We allude to the fatal indifl"erence towards 
the carrying on the war which pervaded the country as soon as the 
alliance became known. Regarding victory as now certain in the 
end, the citizens began to intermit their exertions and sacrifices; and 
it was no common occurrence even to hear leading patriots say that 



MUTINY IN THE AMERICAN CAMP. 145 

France hereafter would bear the whole burden of the war. Added 
to this the continental money continued depreciathig. The army 
thought itself neglected by Congress, and indeed was ; but Congress 
was less to blame than the states, to whom it appealed in vain. The 
enthusiasm which had distinguished the first years of the contest 
had entirely disappeared ; and all classes, with the exception of a 
few leading men in each, were become mercenary, selfish and even 
criminally indifferent. Hence it was that during the whole of the 
years 1779 and 1780, Washington was unable to undertake any 
enterprise of importance ; for with an army decreasing continually 
by the expiration of enlistments, and impossible to be recruited to 
any extent, in consequence 6f the apathy of the public mind, it 
would have been madness to have engaged in a war of oii'ence. 
The American General, therefore, contented himself with maintain- 
ing his lines on the Hudson, West Point being the key to his posi- 
tion. He often experienced the greatest diihculty in victualling 
his troops, but his skill and perseverance finally overcame every 
obstacle. The manner in which he triumphed in this emergency, 
and held his army together, is, perhaps, a higher proof of his ability 
than gaining a pitched battle would have been, in the ordinary 
course of European warfare. 

The winter of 1779-80, was particularly severe. The pay of an offi- 
cer was now scarcely sufficient to buy him a pair of shoes : that of a 
private had depreciated, of course, in an equal ratio. Few persons were 
willing to make contracts to the government for supplies of any kind ; 
and of the few entered into, by far the larger portion was unfulfilled. 
At length a mutiny broke out among the Connecticut troops : two regi- 
ments paraded under arms, declaring their fixed resolution to return 
home, or procure food by force. The intelligence of these disorders 
reaching New York, Knyphausen, who commanded there during 
Clinton's absence in the south, caused a number of printed declara- 
tions to be circulated in the American Camp, inviting the disafiected 
to join the royal standard. But though justly exasperated against 
their country for her neglect, the mutineers were not prepared to 
betray her, or desert the principles they had sworn to assert. Not 
a man, it is believed, went over to the enemy in consequence of this 
invitation. The mutiny itself was finally quelled by the exhortations 
of the officers. In the meantime, however, Knyphausen, not to lose 
what he thought so favorable a chance, had made a descent into 
New Jersey, with five thousand men : but instead of being joined, 
as he had expected, by a large number of malcontents, he found the 
soldiers marching with zeal to oppose him, and the inhabitants 
19 N 



146 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

taking arms on all sides. He soon found it advisable to retreat to 
Elizabethtown Point, opposite Staten Island. While he was at this 
place, Clinton returned from his victorious career at the south, and 
inniiediately despatched a reinforcement to Knyphausen, who now 
advanced to Springfield. Here a sharp skirmish occurred between 
him and an hiferior body of Americans, under General Greene. The 
latter were repulsed, on which Knyphausen burned the town. But 
the resistance he had met, convincing him that the hopes he had 
formed were illusive, he retired the next day for New York. The 
error into which he fell on the occasion of this mutiny, had been a 
common one with the royal Generals during the war, who persisted 
in judging of America as they would* of Europe: and hence were 
continually expecting that the depreciation of the currency, the 
increasing discontent among the army, and the inevitable subsidence 
of the popular enthusiasm, would give them eventually an easy 
conquest. 

The intelligence of the fall of Charleston, which reached the north 
before the end of May, spread gloom and terror through camp and 
Congress. Fortunately, however, an event soon occurred which 
[)artially restored confidence. This was the return of the Marquis 
La Fayette from France, with the intelligence that a French land 
and naval force was on its way to America. Accordingly, in July, 
a fleet of ten armed ships accompanied by thirty-six transports, and 
six thousand soldiers, arrived at Rhode Island. They brought infor- 
mation that a second fleet, with more troops, was expected soon to 
sail from the harbor of Brest. The fleet was commanded by the 
Chevalier de Terney : the army by the Count de Rochambeau. A 
general enthusiasm succeeded their arrival, and a vigorous campaign 
against the British posts was projected. To compliment the French, 
Washington recommended to his ofiicers to place a white relief on 
the American cockade. In the midst of these sanguine hopes, how- 
ever, the news arrived, that the transports, with the second portion 
of the French army, was blockaded in Brest : and in an instant all 
the visions of a brilliant campaign vanished, the forces of Rocham- 
beau and Washington being too small to begin oflensive operations 
with any prospect of success. In the meantime, however, the 
American General lost no opportunity of propitiating his allies. 
Conferences were also held as to the best plan of conducting the 
war. Washington had met Terney and Rochambeau at Hartford, 
in Connecticut, for this purpose, on the 21st of September, 1780, 
when, during his absence, a conspiracy for betraying West Point to 
the enemy was discovered, and fortunately frustrated. The plot 



TREASON OF ARNOLD. 147 

came so near success, however, that its failure ahnost appears the 
result of a direct interposition of Providence, 

West Point was the key to the Highlands, and considered impreg- 
nable. It guarded the communication between the eastern and 
middle states, and hence, as well as on account of its convenience as 
a central depot, had been chosen as the depository of immense stores. 
Its possession, in more than one respect, therefore, would be advan- 
tageous to the British : and might even be the cause of total ruin 
to the American arms. The traitor who proposed to surrender it 
to Clinton, was the same Arnold, of whose headlong bravery at 
Quebec and Saratoga we have already spoken. This General had, 
like many others, scarcely received his deserts from Congress ; but 
instead of emulating the patriotism of Schuyler, he resolved on a 
plan of revenge. Accordingly, a year before, and while in com- 
mand of Philadelphia, he had opened, under an assumed name, a 
correspondence with Clinton. In Philadelphia, he married a Miss 
Shippen, a young, gay, and beautiful woman, of habits even more 
extravagant than his own, and of political principles directly opposed 
to those which the wife of an American Major General would be 
presumed to possess. Indulging in an expensive style of living, he 
soon began to want means : to obtain these, he engaged in priva- 
teering, which proved unsuccessful. At last, harassed by his 
debts, he resorted to fraud and peculation, to conceal which he 
exhibited false accounts against the government. The result was, 
a refusal to allow his demands. This excited him to some very 
reprehensible acts and words against the public and Congress. 
These produced a court-martial on charges preferred by the Gover- 
nor of Pennsylvania. By this body he was sentenced to be 
reprimanded by the Commander-in-chief, and the sentence was car- 
ried into execution. 

The proud soul of Arnold burned at this indignity, and he resolved 
on a signal vengeance ; but, concealing his" base designs, he applied 
for the command of West Point. After some solicitation Washing- 
ton, who had always considered him an efficient officer, yielded to 
his request, Arnold now immediately resumed his correspondence 
with Clinton, and proceeded so vigorously in his treasonable pur- 
poses, that a price was soon agreed on between him and the British 
General for the surrender of the post. The absence of Washington, 
at Hartford, was chosen as a suitable time for the infamous act. It 
being necessary, however, to arrange some preliminaries, Major 
Andre, Adjutant General of the British army, a young, amiable and 
accomplished officer, was despatched by Clinton to hold a private 



148 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 



interview with Arnold, without the American Hnes. Andre ascended 
the Hudson in the Vulture sloop of war, and the parties met, at the 
house of a Mr. Smith, on the 21st of September, 1780, but daybreak 
surprising them, in the midst of their conversation, it became neces- 
sary for Andre to remain until the evening ; and during the interval 
he was concealed, of necessity, within the American lines. At night 
the boatman who had brought him off, refused to carry him back to 
the Vulture, that vessel having dropped down the river durhig the 




CAPTURE OF MAJOR AXBRE. 



preceding day, to avoid an American battery on shore. Andre now 
attempted to make his way to New York by land, to facilitate which 
purpose, Arnold furnished him with a pass, under the assumed 
name of John Anderson. Andre passed the American lines in safety, 
but was stopped on the second day of his journey, almost within 
sight of the British posts, by three militia men. It is probable that 
ordinary tact would have sufficed to quiet their suspicions, and pre- 
vent further molestation ; but, losing his presence of mind, he suf- 
fered himself to reveal his rank and nation, before learning that of 
his interrogators ; and then, on discovering his mistake, he offered 
such extravagant remuneration for his release, that the suspicions 
of his captors were still more fully excited. On searchin? Andre's 
person, his papers were found in his boot. These were in Arnold's 
hand writing, and contained a description of the defences at West 



DEATH OF MAJOR ANDRE. 149 

Point, with an estimate of the number of men required to man them. 
On detecting these documents, the miUtia men conducted him to 
Colonel Jameson, their commandant, the superior officer of all the 
scouting parties of militia employed on the lines. Here Andre asked 
leave to write a note to Arnold, in which, under his assumed name 
of Anderson, he informed the traitor of his own arrest ; intelligence 
so timely to Arnold, that, on receiving it, he called his barge, and 
rowed at once to the Vulture. Having despatched this note to his 
confederate, Andre wrote and forwarded a letter to Washington. 
He signed this with his real name, enclosing the papers captured on 
his person, and endeavoring to prove that he had not come as a spy 
within the American lines. Meantime Washington, little suspecting 
this foul treason, had returned from Hartford and crossed to West 
Point. Not finding Arnold there, he re-crossed to head-quarters, 
and here received Andre's letter. The cause of Arnold's disappear- 
ance was now explained. But forty-eight hours had elapsed since 
the arrest of Andre, and it was now too late to overtake the traitor, 
who, by this time, was on his way, safely in the Vulture, to New 
York. 

At first Washington was confounded by the intelligence of Ar- 
nold's treason, not knowing to what extent its ramifications spread. 
A board of officers was immediately appointed to try Andre as 
a spy. Among the members of this board were Steuben and La 
Fayette, both chosen because foreigners, to give a greater apparent 
impartiality abroad to the decision of the court. Andre was found 
guilty on his own confession, disdaining, like a gallant soldier, to 
make use of any quibble. The judges compassionated the unfortu- 
nate young man, and shed tears while they awarded the doom 
required by the laws of war. He was sentenced to be hung as a 
spy. Clinton, who loved Andre almost as a brother, made the most 
strenuous exertions to save his friend's life : he wrote to Washing- 
ton ; he solicited a conference ; he threatened retaliations of the most 
wholesale character in Carolina. But all was in vain. The unhappy 
victim was told to prepare for his death. In this awful crisis, he 
deported himself with the courage of a soldier, and reproved his 
servant for the emotion he betrayed. His only request was that he 
might be shot. To this Washington could not consent, consistently 
with his duty to his country : and, out of delicacy, declined to answer 
the request : though he wept at his inability to spare Andre this 
ignominious pain. On beholding the terrible machinery provided 
for his execution, tlie hapless young man, who had indulged a hope 
that his petition would be granted, shrank back, and exclaimed, 

N* 



150 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

" must I die in this manner ?" But immediately recovering himself. 
he added, " it will be but a momentary pang," and marched firmly 
forwards. Just before he suffered, he requested all to witness that 
he died like a brave man, and then, stepping lightly into the cart, 
endured his sentence, amid the tears and sobs of the spectators. 
Friend and foe have since united to deplore his untimely, though 
necessary fate. Yet, by a strange fallacy, the similar catastrophe 
that befel Captain Hale, of the American army, has been almost 
overlooked, and the sympathy that should have been divided among 
both, been exhausted on Andre. The one sleeps in a humble grave, 
almost forgotten by his countrymen ; the other long since was disin- 
terred and placed with martial pomp in the sacred gloom of West- 
minster Abbey, 

The subsequent career of Arnold forms an appropriate conclusion 
to this melancholy tale. He received the wages of his treason, and 
was given a command in the British army ; but honorable men 
shrank from his society, and wherever he went he was regarded as 
the murderer of Andre. He had the assurance to appear at court, 
but was insulted in the very presence of the King, At last he threw 
up his commission in disgust, and coming to Nova Scotia, resumed 
his old profession of a merchant. He died universally execrated, as 
well by the nation he had served, as by the one he had betrayed. 

In October, 1780, Clinton despatched three thousand troops under 
General Leslie, to Virginia, where he was ordered to co-operate 
with Cornwallis, who was expected there by this period. He 
remained in Virginia but a short time, having received orders from 
Cornwallis to join him at Charleston, Here he arrived in time to 
unite with that officer in the pursuit of Greene through North Caro- 
lina, as we have before narrated. In the meantime, and while Greene 
was engaged in his masterly retreat, the American army at the north 
lay at Morristown, enduring all the rigors of the season, ill-fed and 
scantily clothed. Though there had been a plentiful harvest, the 
want of money in camp, rendered it almost impossible for Washing- 
ton to supply the soldiers with food : and recourse was had again to 
forced contributions. At this crisis, a mutiny broke out in the 
Pennsylvania line, the soldiers of which declared that they were 
retained after their terms of enlistment expired. Thirteen hundred 
of these men paraded under arms, on the night of the 1st of Janu- 
ary, 1781, and declared their intention to march on Philadelphia, 
and demand justice from Congress, at the point of the bayonet. 
Their oflicers attempted to quell the insubordination, but failed : and 
m the effort, one otficer was killed and several wounded. As Gene 



CONTINENTAL MONEY. 151 

ral Wayne possessed great popularity among the mutineers, he was 
sent by Washington to exhort them to return to duty. But he, too, 
was unsuccessful. He even threatened to shoot the ringleaders, but 
they earnestly besought him not to force them to harm him : 
solemnly declaring their resolution to be unalterable to have their 
wrongs redresssed. They selected temporary officers, accordingly, 
and marched to Princeton, on their way to the capital. But here 
they were met by a deputation from Congress, who finally etiected 
a compromise with them. Much as we may deplore the mutiny 
of these men, we cannot but own that, like the mutineers of the 
Connecticut line, the year before, they had great cause for complaint. 
Nor were they less firm than the former mutineers in their patriot- 
ism, for when Clinton, hearing of their revolt, sent emissaries to 
seduce them to his ranks, they delivered the spies to Wayne to be 
hung. They appear to have been goaded by the neglect and injus- 
tice of Congress to tur^ their arms against that body ; but never to 
have swerved in their devotion to the country. Their misguided 
conduct, however, might have led to the total ruin of the cause of 
independence. The nation felt this, and when, shortly after, a part 
of the Jersey line, infected by their pernicious example, broke out 
into revolt, stringent measures were adopted, and the mutiny being 
put down, the ringleaders were executed. 

As these disturbances were owing chiefly to the neglect of pay, 
this is the proper place to enter on the subject of the continental 
money, the depreciation of which had led to the inability of the 
federal government to liquidate its obligations to the army. Years 
had now passed since many of the soldiers had received a cent from 
Congress, and those who were paid, obtained their dues only in a 
depreciated currency. The financial condition of the country had 
been indeed on the verge of ruin for more than two campaigns. 
The cause for this was, that Congress had never provided any real 
fund for the expenses of the war. At the beginning of the contest, 
some of the bolder spirits had proposed raising a revenue by taxa- 
tion ; but as this was the very difficulty about which the colonists 
were quarrelling with Great Britain, it was thought wisest to waive 
this subject for the present. A loan was the next available resource : 
but who would lend to revolted colonies ? As a last resort, Congress 
issued bills of credit, for the payment of which, the faith of the con- 
federated states was pledged. The first emission was to the amouat 
of two millions, and took place in June, 1775: this was followed, 
in the succeeding month, by the issue of another million. At this 
period of the war, it was generally supposed that an accommodation 



152 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 





Six ^jr)0.t£JhA§^ 

T^HISRilletitillcjtt.c 

SIX SP.VNKH MILLED 
DOLLARS, or ilie 
Va(iirth»r«o/ inCOLD 
OrSILVER-uccortintflo 
ai?eiolii«iciTi of COA''^ 
GRE,V5tuU„Wat Phi- 
ladelphia Nni- IJ^Q • 



SIX DOLLARS 




CONTINENTAL MONEY. 



would speedily be arranged, and accordingly the bills circulated at 
par, and were readily taken. But when, in consequence of the con- 
tract entered into by England with Germany, to procure foreign 
mercenaries, it was thought necessary by Congress to extend the 
plan of defence, more and more bills were emitted, the issue extend- 
ing through the months of February, May, and July, 1776. By the 
close of this year there were twenty millions in circulation. Up to this 
period, the bills had suffered no depreciation, but the successes of the 
British began to alarm prudent traders, as well as large capitalists, 
and though the victory at Trenton re-animated the hopes of the 
patriots, yet it did not preserve the credit of the paper currency. A 
long war was seen to be inevitable, and in consequence, the bills fell. 
The depreciation at first was gradual, but as the contest grew pro- 
tracted, and more bills were thrown on the market, the depreciation 
progressed at an alarming ratio. This depreciation began at differ- 
ent periods in different states, and extended not only to the conti- 
nental paper, but to the bills of a like character issued by the 
different states. The decline commenced early in the year 1777 ; 
and before the close of the year had reached two or three for one. 
In 177S, the depreciation rose to five or six for one : in 1779, twenty- 
seven or twenty-eight for one : in the early part of 1780, fifty or 
sixty for one, and towards its close, one hundred and fifty for one. 



VARIOUS PLANS FOR RAISING A REVENUE. 153 

By this time many would not take the paper on any terms. In 1 781 
the depreciation reached several hundreds for one, and the circula- 
tion, even at this rate, was so partial that, from this period, the hills 
may be said to have disappeared from active use. 

A terrible crisis had now come in the financial affairs of the 
country. In the neighborhood of the American army there was no 
circulating medium of either paper or money, a real want of neces- 
saries ensued, and in consequence, as we have seen, the Connecticut, 
and subsequently, the Pennsylvania troops, broke out into mutiny. 
Congress did not know what remedy to apply for this evil. A 
legislative body may make paper loans, but cannot create a currency 
without credit. There was little gold or silver in the country, and 
what there was, private citizens hoarded. In vain various expedients 
were resorted to in order to establish a currency, and to check the 
accelerated depreciation of the continental bills. Unjust and absurd 
laws had been recommended to the states by Congress, for regulating 
the prices of labor, manufactures, and all sorts of commodities : for 
confiscating and selling the estates of tories : and for making legal 
money a tender in payment of debts. All these laws were, of 
course, found to be impracticable. Manufacturers ceased to work, 
when they found that the depreciation of the currency, to which the 
law affixed a nominal value, far above its real one, no longer re- 
munerated them. The large number of tory estates thrown on 
the market necessarily lessened their value. And the law which 
made the paper money a legal tender, was found in practice only to 
enable a dishonest debtor to pay his creditor a pound, which was 
not really worth a pound ; while it reduced to beggary all that large 
class of annuitants, such as widows, orphans, and aged persons, who 
had money out at interest and who received only worthless paper 
instead of their just dues. 

Fortunately for the country a very beneficial trade sprung up in 
the year 1780, with the French and Spanish West India islands, 
which continued through the war, and was the means of introducing 
much gold and silver into the states. The French army at New- 
port also disbursed large sums in specie. But these resources 
were still inadequate to the wants of the community. The army 
especially suffered. Taxation was resorted to in order to obtain 
relief, and the diflerent states were called on for quotas of provisions 
and forage ; but there was a very general prejudice existing against 
this system of raising a revenue, and many of the quotas were never 
completely filled. Loans from private individuals were now endea- 
vored to be negotiated; but Congress met with but little success in 
20 



154 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 




BOBERT MORRIS. 



this attempt : the patriotism of the few large capitalists being less 
than their confidence in the government, and the body of the people 
wanting means. A few, however, of the wealthy merchants came 
forward to the assistance of Congress, and among the most active of 
these was Robert Morris, of Philadelphia, who had been placed at 
the head of the bank, established at his suggestion, the year before. 
The finances of the confederacy were given into his control, and the 
public engagements hereafter met in gold and silver. A subsidy of six 
millions of livres was obtained from the King of France, and that 
monarch became security for ten millions more borrowed in the 
Netherlands. On the whole, the financial condition of the coimtry, 
under the skilful measures now adopted, began to improve ; but 
there was more than one crisis yet before the end of the war : and 
one of tiiese came so near rendering the expedition against Cornvval 



ACTION OFF CATK HKNItV\ 15.5 

lis al)ortiv(^, llwil l)iil lor llic liiiidy :iiriv;il of llw specif; rciiiitt(!(l 
iVom tJio (•(Hilt, of Kiiiiicc, il is probable! ihc Iriiimpbs ol" Yorktowii 
would never have been ac.liiiived. The British ministry liad loni,' 
loreseeu the approac[i of this financial tempest, and luid ind(!ed pro- 
tracted the contest, hoi)ing to avail thems(!lve.s of its aid. It :ipp(sirs 
little short of a direct interposition of Providence to Ixiliold (Ik; 
country saved in this extremity. IJut to ntturn to the thntad of our 
narrative. 

The hcginning of (ii<! y(!ar 17H1, wlii(;h wiln(!ss(;d (Irecne's mas- 
terly retreat through North (Carolina, foimd Washington aj)parently 
idle at his posts on the Hudson. Hut Ik; was secretly l)usy never- 
thel(3ss; and was straining evc^ry nerve to be able soon to strike; a 
(hicisive hlow. ]Vl(;antim<! Clinton, finding himself ci^nsured for in- 
activity, proj(!Ctcd an altcnipt on Virginia, and as a preliminary, 
despatched Arnold thitlicr. 'I'bat recreant General, in tlie execution 
of the task now allotted liiin, seemed desirous to add the title of 
bandit to that of traitor : and accordingly began to ravag(! the pro- 
vince with a ferocity nn|)aralleled, respecting neilber private; nor 
public property, hut i)luud(;ring all alike. Witb twelve liundnd 
men Ik; landed at Westown, wh(;nce he proce(;d(;d to Kicbmond, 
where he destroyed irniufMise (piantities of rum, salt, tobacco, and 
other stores: and fuially estahlishing himself at Portsmouth, he sent 
out parties on all sides to conmiit havoc and destruction, as the 
foul dragon in the German story r(idu(;ed, with his breath alone, tlie 
surrounding districts to a blighted d(!sert. 

When Wasbington heard of this rapine he conceived the i)rojoct 
of capturing the traitor, and making him expiate on the gallows his 
ofl'ences against his country. Accordingly l^a Fayette, who had 
been detailed with twelve hundred men to r(;inforce Greene, was 
ordered to remain in Virginia, and h»;m in Arnold from escape ])y 
la)i(J; while, at the same linic,a pr()|)ositiou was made to tb(; Kn;nch 
Admiral at Newport to send his fl(;et and a thousand land troops to 
cut off Arnold's return by s(!a.. Dejstouches, however, had already 
made up his mind that onr; line of battle ship and two frigates would 
be sufficient for the pin-pose. 'I'hese accordingly w(!r(! despatched 
on the 5th of February, but Arnold was so w(;ll posted as to defy 
attack. The seiuadron accordingly returned to Newport. It was 
now resolved, in a p(;rsonal conference between Wasbington, I)es- 
touches and Rochambeau, to embark eleven hundred I'Vench troops, 
and escort them with the whole fleet. This was accordingly done 
on the 8th of March, iiut on the HiUi, the English fleet under Ar- 
buthnot, which had given chase, came up with the French off Cape 



156 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 




ACTION' OFF CAPE HENRY. 



Henry : and, after an hour's combat, Destouches bore up and aban- 
doned the enterprise, returning the next day to Rhode Island. In 
this manner the traitor made his escape. 

It was well known to Clinton that the conquest of Virginia had 
become a favorite measure with the ministry at home. That rich 
and populous province had hitherto suffered but little from the war. 
It was intersected with large and navigable rivers ; and in other re- 
spects afforded facilities for fleets. The plan of the ministry was to 
seize and fortify some point on its coast, both for the sake of a con- 
venient depot for shipping and to hold the province in check. It was 
determined if the colony could not be conquered that it should be 
ravaged. Clinton was well aware of these views, and prepared to 
second them. He had in consequence already despatched first Leslie, 
and after his removal, Arnold, to Virginia ; and now he proceeded to 
send General Phillips, with a force of two thousand men to reinforce 
Arnold. On the 26th of March he arrived in the Chesapeake, and 
soon forming a junction with Arnold, ravaged the country along the 
bay, burning four thousand hogsheads of tobacco in Petersburg 
alone. On the 9th of May the two Generals established themselves 
at this town, where shortly after General Phillips died. On the 20tli 
of the same month, Lord Cornwallis arrived from Wilmington 
where we left him, after the battle of Guildford, in order that wt 
might follow the fortunes of Greene. Being here joined by the forces 



MOVEMENTS OF THE ARMIES IN VIRGINIA. 157 

lately commanded by Phillips, and a reinforcement of fifteen hun- 
dred men just arrived from New York, he was at the head of a very 
imposing force, and deeming the province at his mercy, began to 
trample it under the hoofs of military conquest. 

Virginia indeed was, at this period, in a pitiable condition, from 
which it seemed almost impossible to rescue her. The army of 
Cornwallis was about five thousand, all disciplined troops, many of 
them veterans. To oppose these, La Fayette had scarcely four 
thousand men, of whom three-fourths were militia. Besides these, 
however, there were six hundred men under Baron Steuben, who 
had been marching to the aid of Greene, but had been recalled, and 
were now on the south side of James River. Fortunately, also, 
Wayne had been despatched to reinforce La Fayette, and it now 
became the object of the latter, after having, by a forced march on 
Richmond, saved the stores there, to efiect a junction with his 
brother General. Meantime Cornwallis, who was very effective in 
cavalry, having mounted his troops without scruple from the stables 
of the Virginia gentlemen, despatched two expeditions, one under 
Tarleton, to Charlotteville, the other under Simcoe, to Point of Fork. 
Tarleton had nearly captured the Assembly, which was in session 
at the former place ; but the members fortunately were warned in 
time, and chiefly escaped, only seven being made prisoners. He 
destroyed, however, a large quantity of stores. Simcoe was less 
successful, the Americans having removed most of their stores from 
Point of Fork. All this time La Fayette had been engaged in 
effecting his junction with Wayne. Cornwallis, desirous of securing 
his opponent's stores, which had been removed from Richmond to 
Albemarle Old Court-House, took post between La Fayette and 
that place ; but the Marquis, by opening a road which had long 
been disused, and was regarded by the English as impassable, 
escaped from the snare. Cornwallis, on the next day, the IStli of 
June, fell back on Richmond. In a few days Steuben arrived to 
reinforce La Fayette, who had now nearly two thousand regulars. 
The British General, astonished to find so large a force concentrated 
with such rapidity against him, and indeed believing the troops of 
his enemy to be more numerous than they were, thought it prudent 
to retire to Williamsburgh, whither the Marquis cautiously followed 
him. Already the proud British leader had found " the boy," as he 
contemptuously called La Fayette, almost his match. 

As he entered Williamsburgh the rear of Cornwallis became 
engaged with the American van ; but he had no desire to fight a 
battle, as he had just received orders from Clinton to send part of 



158 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

his troops to New York, where his superior was in daily expectation 
of a combined attack on the part of the Americans and French. 
Accordingly, on the 4th of July, Cornwallis marched to a ford on 
the James River, and sent over part of his army to the opposite 
banks, in what is called the island of Jamestown. By the 7th, the 
wheel carriages and baggage had also crossed. At this crisis, La 
Fayette, supposing that the whole British army had passed over 
except the rear-guard, determined to assault them. This determina- 
tion Cornwallis had suspected, and indeed laid the snare for his 
enemy. Wayne, who had been sent forward to begin the attack, 
soon found himself opposed by overwhelming numbers ; but with 
his accustomed courage, he advanced, though with only eight hun- 
dred men, to the charge. The British stood amazed at this gallant 
daring. Fortunately La Fayette had, in the meantime, perceived 
his error, and sent a message to Wayne to retire, the light infantry 
forming his cover as he did so. Cornwallis feared to pursue, lest he 
should be drawn into an ambush. In this action the Americans lost 
one hundred and eighteen in killed and wounded : the English 
seventy-five. In the night the English General followed his baggage 
across to Jamestown, and shortly after proceeded to Portsmouth, 
where he embarked the troops required for New York. The trans- 
ports had not yet sailed, however, when he received a countermand 
from Clinton, who wrote that he had no longer any fear of an attack 
on New York. That General also ordered Cornwallis to establish 
himself firmly in Virginia ; and for this purpose, to occupy a suitable 
defensive post, capable of protecting ships of the line. Old Point 
Comfort and Yorktown were suggested ; but the former was found 
unsuitable, and the latter accordingly selected. Here, Cornwallis 
established himself in the latter part of the month of July, 17S1, and 
began leisurely to fortify the place. Little did he think it was the 
net which would entangle him, and from which he should come out 
only with ruined fortunes. 

While these events were passing in Virginia, Washington, at the 
north, had been planning a combined attack on New York. At first 
he was sanguine of bringing over the French allies to the enterprise ; 
but the receipt of large reinforcements by Clinton soon rendered the 
affair extremely hazardous. Moreover, the assistance of Admiral 
de Grasse, from the West Indies, was necessary, and as that officer 
declared his instructions forbade him to remain on the American 
coast after the middle of October, a period too short to permit the 
siege of New York, the undertaking was of necessity, though with 
great reluctance, abandoned. But Washington did not yield to 



THE ALLIED FORCES SURROUND VORKTOWN. 159 

despondency. If he could not strike in one place, he was resolved 
to do so m another. All the energies of his mind were now devoted 
to secretly preparing an expedition against Cornwallis, with which 
to crush that General forever. His arrangements were soon per- 
fected, but in order to ensure success, it was necessary to deceive 
Clinton, else that General would have flown to the succor of York- 
town. Accordingly, Rochambeau marched with five thousand troops 
from Newport to the eastern bank of the Hudson, where Washing- 
ton effected a junction with him, and the two daily insulted the 
British lines, as if a siege was already preparing. Meantime letters 
were written, intended to be intercepted, full of hints as to the 
approaching investment. Engineers were also sent to reconnoitre 
the island of New York from the opposite shores. Reports of de 
Grasse's speedy arrival oft' Sandy Hook were circulated. Pretended 
preparations were made to establish a camp opposite Staten Island, 
Sir Henry Clinton was completely deceived. Even when Washing- 
ton had advanced to Trenton, the British General, thinking his 
adversary was only manoeuvreing to draw him from his lines, 
refused to stir from New York, At last the American leader 
received intelligence that de Grasse was off the coast. Instantly 
the army was put in motion, and advanced with great rapidity 
through Pennsylvania to the head of Elk, On the same day, the 
28th of August, 1781, de Grasse entered the Chesapeake. The 
snare was closing around Cornwallis. His star already waned low 
and lurid in the setting horizon. 

De Grasse immediately proceeded to blockade York River with a 
part of his force. Thirty-two hundred troops were then landed, 
under the Marquis St. Simon, which speedily effected a junction 
with La Fayette. This had scarcely been done, when Admiral 
Greaves, with the English fleet from the West Indies, of fourteen 
sail of the line, and his own squadron from New York, of five sail 
of the line, appeared off" the Capes of Virginia, on which de Grasse 
put to sea, with his whole force, amounting to twenty -four sail of 
the line, in order to give him battle. After a partial engagement, 
however, night separated the combatants. The hostile squadrons 
manoeuvred in sight of each other for five days, at the end of which 
time, de Grasse returned to his former anchorage within the Capes. 
Here he found de Barras, who had left Newport on the 25th of 
August, with the military stores, and heavy artillery, suitable for 
carrying on the siege ; and had, in consequence of de Grasse's 
demonstration, successfully eluded the British. Admiral Greaves, 
on approaching the Chesapeake, fomid himself in presence of so 



160 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

superior a force, that he thought it advisable to bear away for New- 
York. Long before his arrival there, however, Chntoii had dis- 
covered the stratagem by which Washington had lulled his appre- 
hensions respecting the south. To save Cornwallis, he determined 
on an expedition against New London, which was accordingly exe- 
cuted with signal atrocity, under the command of Arnold, but 
without eflecting the recall of the American army. Meantime, the 
French Admiral, after seeing the siege artillery and stores landed, 
despatched the light transports to bring Washington's army down 
from the Head of Elk to Annapolis. The allied forces, now twenty 
thousand strong, of which but a fifth part was militia, after this 
advanced to the vicinity of Williamsburgh, and closely invested 
Cornwallis, who, with an army of seven thousand, found himself 
beset on the land side by this invincible force, and on the sea by 
nearly thirty sail of the line. 

How ditlerent were the feelings of the combatants on either side. 
The continentals now trod with the elation of anticipated triumph, 
over the ground which they had, but a few years before, tracked 
with their fugitive blood. The British, lately so haughty and 
assured of conquest, gnashed their teeth with rage and despair, to 
find themselves hopelessly enclosed. But, before we proceed further, 
let us describe the real nature of their position. 

The town of York lies on the southern shore of the river of that 
name, at a spot where the banlis are bold and high. On the oppo- 
site side, at the distance of a mile, is Gloucester Point, a strip of land 
projecting far into the stream. Both the town and point were occu- 
pied by Cornwallis, the communication being preserved by his 
batteries ; while several British men-of-war lay under his guns, for 
the river was here deep enough for the largest ship of the line. 

By referring to the map a clear idea may be gained of the strength 
of Cornwallis's position. It will be seen that Yorktown is situated 
at the narrowest part of the peninsula formed by the York and James 
rivers, where the distance across is but eight miles. By placing his 
troops, therefore, aromid the village, and drawing about them a 
range of outer redoubts and field works calculated to command this 
peninsula, Cornwallis had established himself in a position of great 
strength ; while, by fortifying Gloucester Point and maintaining the 
communication between it and Yorktown, he opened a door for the 
reception of supplies, and provided a way of escape in the last 
emergency. Yet still, when he considered the force of the Ameri- 
cans, and his own comparatively scanty numbers, dark seasons of 
doubt affected even his composed soul. 



SIEGK OF YORKTOWN. 



161 




YORKTOW.V. 



Having formed a junction with La Fayette, the alhed army, com- 
manded by Washington in person, moved down from WilUamsburg 
to Yorktown ; and on the 30th of September occupied the outer 
hues of Cornwahis, which that General had abandoned without a 
struggle. Two thousand men were detailed to the Gloucester side 
to blockade that post. The investment was now complete. 

It was not, however, until the night of the 6th of October that the 
Americans broke ground, within six hundred yards of the enemy's 
lines, the intermediate time having been employed in bringing up 
the stores and heavy artillery. By daybreak the trenches were 
sufficiently advanced to cover the men. In less than four days a 
sufficient number of batteries and redoubts had been erected to 
silence the fire of the enemy. On the 10th, (the day on which the 
British withdrew their cannon from the embrasures,) the red-hot balls 
of the allied batteries set fire to an English frigate and three large 
transports lying in the harbor. Cornwallis now began to despond. 
No succor had arrived from New York, and the allies were pushing 
the siege with extraordinary vigor. On the night of the 11th, the 
second parallel was opened within three hundred yards of the 
British lines. These new trenches were flanked by two redoubts in 
possession of the enemy, who, taking advantage of the circumstance, 

opened several new embrasures, and kept up an incessant and 
21 O* 



162 THE WAR OF INPEPEXDENCE. 

destructive fire. It became necessary to carry these batteries by 
storm ; and the evening of the fourteenth was fixed for the purpose, 
one redoubt being assigned to the Americans and the other to the 
French. A noble emulation fired the soldiers of the respective 
nations as they advanced across the plain. La Fayette led the con- 
tinentals : the Baron de Viominel commanded his countiymen. The 
redoubt entrusted to the Americans was carried at the bayonet's 
point, the assailants rushing on with such inipetuosity that the sap- 
pers had not time to remove the abattis and palisades. The French 
were equally courageous and successful, though, as their redoubt 
was defended by a larger force, the conquest was not so speedy, and 
their loss was greater. It was, at one time, currently believed that 
La Fayette, with the concurrence of Washington, had issued orders 
for every man to be put to the sword, in retaliation for the massacre 
at New London, a few weeks before ; but Colonel Hamilton, who 
took part in the assault, and who had ample means of knowing the 
truth, has publicly denied the statement. The redoubts were the 
same night included in the second parallel, and their guns, the next 
day, made ready to be turned against the foe. 

Cornwallis was now reduced to extremities. His works were 
crumbling under the shot of the first parallel, and in another day 
new trenches would open their fire at half the distance. In this 
emergency he resolved on a sortie, hoping thus to retard the comple- 
tion of the batteries in the second parallel. The enterprise was, at 
first successful, and the two batteries, which were now nearly com- 
pleted, fell into the hands of the foe ; but the guards from the 
trenches immediatetly hastening to the assistance of their fel- 
low soldiers, the enemy was dislodged and driven back into his 
works. The same day the second parallel opened several of its 
batteries. It was hoped that by morning every gun might be 
brought to bear. 

Having failed in his sortie, and knowing that his position was 
now untenable, the British General took the desperate resolution of 
crossing over to Gloucester Point in the night, and cutting his way 
through the blockading force there: then mounting his men on what- 
ever horses he could seize, to make a rapid march northward and 
join Sir Henry Clinton. By this movement he would abandon his 
sick and baggage ; but he would save himself the disgrace of a 
surrender. Boats were secretly procured, and the first embarkation 
reached the point safely and unperceived ; but, at this juncture, a 
violent storm arose, wh;ch drove the boats down the river. The 
tempest continued until daylight, when the enterprise was unavoid- 



SURRENDER OF CORNWALLIS. 163 

ably given up, and the troops that had passed over re-crossed to the 
southern side. 

Thus foiled in his last hope, the usually buoyant soul of Cornwal- 
lis gave way to despair. He had continued to flatter himself that 
Clinton, knowing the strait he was in, would hurry from New York 
to his aid. As early as the twenty-ninth of September he had 
received a despatch stating that succor would sail on the 5th of 
October, but the 5th had long come and gone, and still, though the 
besieged watched with hourly increasing intensity, the welcome sails 
of the British fleet did not whiten the distant waters of the bay. 
More than two weeks had elapsed since the despatch was received. 
Where could Clinton be ? We may imagine the anxiety with 
which Cornwallis daily swept the horizon with his glass ; and the 
disappointment with which he beheld the green waste stretching 
unbroken to the sea-board. He had now played his last card. His 
works were like moth-eaten wood around him, and might be 
expected to tumble at any moment to the earth. His chances of 
escape were gone. It is said, that in the mortification and anguish 
of his soul, he shed tears, and expressed his preference for death 
rather than the ignominy of a surrender. 

But there was no resource. At ten on the morning of the 17th, 
accordingly, Cornwallis beat a parley, and proposed a cessation of 
hostilities for one day, in order to agree on terms for the surrender 
of Yorktown and Gloucester. Washington granted two hours for 
Cornwallis to prepare his proposals ; and, that no time might be lost, 
sent in his own. The answer of the British General rendering it 
probable that but little difficulty would occur in adjusting the terms, 
Washington consented to the cessation of hostilities. On the 18th 
the commissioners from the two armies met ; but evening arrived 
before they could agree except on a rough draft of the terms of 
surrender. These, however, Washington caused to be copied, and 
sent them early next morning to Cornwallis, determined not to lose 
the slightest advantage by delay. He further informed the British 
General that a definitive answer was expected by eleven o'clock ; 
and that in case of a surrender, the garrison must march out by two 
in the afternoon. No resource being left, Cornwallis signed. 

It was a proud day for the war-worn troops of America, when the 
richly appointed soldiery of Britain marched out with dejected faces 
from their works, and in profound silence stacked their arms on the 
plain, in presence of the conquerors. By this capitulation more than 
seven thousand prisoners, exclusive of seamen, fell into the hands of 
the allies. Among the captives were two Generals, and thirty-one 



164 



THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 




SURRENDER OF COKPTVVALLIS. 



field, officers. The army, artillery, arms, military chest, and public 
stores were surrendered to Washington ; while the ships and seamen 
were assigned to Count de Grasse, the French Admiral. In addition 
to those made prisoners at the capitulation, the loss of the garrison, 
during the siege, was five hundred and fifty-two. The allied army 
lost about three hundred. The siege occupied eleven days to the 
opening of the treaty, and thirteen to the signing of the capitulation. 
There was a large body of Americans in Yorktown who had joined 
the British army, and Cornwallis endeavored to provide for their 
safety in the capitulation. But as the subject belonged to the civil 
department, Washington rejected the article. The escape of these 
men was, however, humanely connived at ; for a sloop of war was 
allowed to proceed to New York with despatches unsearched, and in 
her they embarked. On thfc very day when the capitulation was 
signed at Yorktown, Sir Henry Clinton sailed from Sandy Hook with 
seven thousand men to relieve Cornwallis ; but on the 24th, when 
off the capes of Virginia, having received intelligence of the surren- 
der, he altered his course for New York. 



EFFECTS OF THE SURRENDER OF COUNWALLIS. 1G5 

Before the siege began, a circumstance occurred which came near 
destroying the success of the campaign. Immediately after the arri- 
val of Washington at WilUamsburg, the Count de Grasse, then lying 
in the Chesapeake, received intelligence that the British fleet, having 
been reinforced, was preparing to attack him again ; and considering 
his position unfavorable for a naval combat, he determined to put to 
sea for the purpose of meeting the enemy, leaving only a few frigates 
to continue the blockade of Yorktown, This resolution alarmed the 
Commander-in-chief; for, if the Count should be blown off the coast, 
the enemy might attain a temporary superiority on those waters, 
and Cornwallis be either succored or removed. La Fayette was 
called in at this emergency, and by his representations, seconded by 
the earnest remonstrances of Washington, the design was abandoned. 
Too much credit cannot be given to de Grasse for thus sacrificing 
his personal glory to the success of the expedition. La Fayette, a 
few days before, had resisted a similar temptation to win renown. 
De Grasse, impatient of the delay of Washington, had urged his 
young countryman to storm the then unfinished works of Cornwallis, 
declaring that it was impossible for him longer to await the arrival 
of the Commander-in-chief. But, with the true spirit of a patriot, 
La Fayette refused to sacrifice the lives of his soldiers, when the 
capture of the enemy might be secured, without bloodshed, by the 
delay of a few days. 

The reduction of Yorktown filled the country with exultation. 
Addresses poured in on the Commander-in-chief from every quarter ; 
froni state governments, cities, corporations and learned bodies. 
Congress returned thanks to Washington, to Rochambeau, and to 
de Grasse, as well as to the officers generally, and to the corps of 
artillery, especially to the engineers. They also ordered a monument 
to be erected on the scene of the surrender, commemorating the 
glorious event. Two stand of colors, of those yielded in the capitu- 
lation, were presented to Washington; two pieces of field ordnance 
to Rochambeau, and the permission of his monarch was solicited to 
bestow a similar gift on de Grasse. The whole body went in solemn 
procession to church, in order to return thanks to Almighty God for 
the success of the allied arms ; and a proclamation was issued, en- 
joining the observance of the 13th of December as a day of thanks- 
giving and prayer. % 

This final catastrophe for the British arms may be regarded as the 
close of the revolutionary drama. From that hour England lost all 
heart for the contest. Seven years she had been occupied in the 
attempt to reduce her colonies ; and she was now further from her 



16b' THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

purpose than before she drew her sword. The loss of Cornwalhs 
paralyzed her forever. The war, though protracted for a year or 
more, was confined to a few predatory excursions in the vichiity of 
New York, and to the expiring struggles of the English in South 
Carolina. On their part also the Americans regarded the fall of 
Yorktown as decisive ; and calculating on a speedy and honorable 
peace, were content to rest on their arms. The remainder of the 
story, therefore, may be narrated in few words. 

After their signal victory, Washington would have persuaded de 
Grasse to further attempts on the continent of America, and pro- 
posed an expedition against Charleston as feasible and full of glory : 
but the French Admiral pleaded the instructions of his government 
not to remain on the coast later than the middle of October, and 
accordingly set sail for the West Indies. Rochambeau, however, 
with the troops de Grasse had landed under St. Simon, as also with 
those he had himself brought from Rhode Island, was left behind, 
and took up his quarters at Williamsburg. The American troops 
belonging eastward of Pennsylvania, were transported by water to 
the head of Elk, and thence marched to cantonments in New Jersey 
near the Hudson, where they remained very generally until the 
conclusion of peace. 

The news of the capture of Cornwallis reached London on the 
25th of November, 1781, and caused general despair, although the 
ministry, at the instigation of the King, still declared their resolution 
to carry on the war. But the sense of the country was now against 
them. The struggle had already cost England one hundred thousand 
men, and seventy millions of money ; and the mercantile classes 
and country gentlemen began to regard it as a gulf which would 
swallow up their means interminably. The whigs in Parliament 
took courage, and renewed their assaults on the Cabinet with such 
vigor, that the ministerial majorities, constantly decreasing, dimin- 
ished at last, on the 22nd of February, to a single vote. At last 
the King consented that Lord North should resign, in order to 
make room for a Cabinet more favorable to peace. Thus the En- 
glish monarch found himself forced to submit to the alternative 
which his own minister had recommended four years before. But, 
in the meantime, what countless lives and treasures had been squan- 
dered to gratify the obstinacy or whim of that one man ! 

Peace, however, was not yet secured. The new ministry was 
made up of discordant materials, and before it could be brought to 
act on the subject, its head, the Marquis of Rockingham, died, and 
the Cabinet fell to pieces. A new ministry was finally arranged, 



THE TREATY OF PEACE SIGNED FINALLY, 167 

and the prospect of a termination of the war began to look more 
favorable, when suddenly an incident Occurred which once more 
endangered everything. This was an intrigue, on the part of the 
French government, to prevent the recognition of American inde- 
pendence. The main purpose of that government, in becoming the 
ally of the colonies, had been to annoy her old rival ; and she 
deemed this would be best effected now, by leaving the question of 
independence an open one, and arranging a hollow truce, instead of 
a permanent peace, between Great Britain and America. She had 
nearly succeeded in this subtle scheme. Franklin even fell into the 
plot, and a treaty would probably have been prepared without any 
formal recognition of the independence of the colonies, had not Jay, 
arriving from Madrid to assist in the conferences, seen through the 
intrigue, and by a single bold resolution, cut the web of diplomacy, 
and disconcerted France. He wrote to the English ministry, ex- 
posing the trick of the Court of Versailles, and arguing that it was 
the interest of Great Britain to come out frankly and acknowledge 
the independence of the United States, as a preliminary to the 
treaty. The English Cabinet followed his suggestion, and the 
treaty now went on rapidly. 

Holland, in the meantime, had followed the example of France 
in recognizing the independence of America ; and on the Sth of 
October, 1782, concluded a treaty of amity and commerce with 
John Adams, the minister of the United States. He also obtained a 
loan of money from her about the same time. Spain retarded the 
negotiations for a season, by her abortive efforts to secure the ces- 
sion of Gibraltar ; but finding this impossible, she finally consented 
to accede to terms less favorable to herself. Some difficulty was 
experienced, on the part of America, in obtaining a share of the 
Newfoundland fisheries, in which France took little interest. All 
these things, however, were eventually arranged : and on the 20th 
of January, 1783, preliminaries were signed by France, Spain and 
Great Britain. Articles between Great Britain and her colonies had 
already been signed on the 30th of the preceding November. 
These treaties were proclaimed by Washington to his army on the 
1 9th of April, the eighth anniversary of the battle of Lexington. 

In February, 1783, Sweden and Denmark acknowledged the 
independence of the United States; in March, Spain; and in July, 
Russia. At last, on the 3rd of September, 1783, the final treaty of 
peace was signed at Paris. This treaty recognized the independence 
of the revolted colonies ; gave them the right of fishery as of old 



168 THE WAR OF IXBEPEXDENCE, 

on the banks of Newfoundland ; secured to creditors the payment 
of debts heretofore contracted ; prohibited future confiscations, and 
recommended to Congress the restoration of former ones ; established 
the navigation of the Mississippi for both English and Americans ; 
and ordered all conquests made after the treaty to be restored. 
Thus the war, after more than eight years of blood, was formally 
concluded, as it had virtually been for nearly two years. 

The army still remained together, however, and as Congress had 
no money to pay the soldiers before disbanding, it was feared that 
some difficulties would arise. It was indeed melancholy, that gal- 
lant men, Avho had fought the battles of their country for so many 
years, and who had endured privations almost incredible, should 
now be tilrned off without a penny, many to beg their way home. 
The officers were in a not less pitiable condition. In 1780, Congress 
had bestowed on them half pay for life, but nine states had neg- 
lected or refused to ratify the grant, and the law was regarded 
virtually a dead letter. In this emergency, in December, 1782, the 
officers petitioned Congress to repeal this law, and instead of half 
pay for life, to give full pay for five years, liquidating in the mean- 
time all arrearages. Congress hesitated at this act of bare justice. , 
The officers, excited by the prospect of approaching want, began to 
threaten. A letter, full of inflammatory appeals, was privately cir- 
culated in the camp at Newburgh. All was tumult and recrimina- 
tion. Fortunately for the country, Washington was at head-quarters 
at this crisis, and interposing to allay the storm, he called the officers 
together and expostulated dispassionately with them. At his per- 
suasions they agreed to wait. He then addressed a letter to Congress, 
in which he so energetically advocated the justice of the claim that 
the pay for five years was bestowed. 

A like difficulty occurred with the soldiers. In October, 1783, 
Congi"ess issued a proclamation that all persons who had enlisted for 
the war, were to be discharged on the 3rd of December. Large 
arrearages were due these veterans, but there was no money to 
discharge the debt. The prospect before them was gloomy in the 
extreme, and was heightened by what seemed ingratitude : accord- 
ingly the excitement and indignation grew, until a party of eighty 
marched from Lancaster on Philadelphia, and being joined by others, 
surrounded the Hall of Congress with fixed bayonets, and demanded 
that their just claims should be provided for in twenty minutes. For 
three hours Congress was thus imprisoned. At last the members 
separated in safety to re-assemble at Princeton. Washington, hear- 



RESIGNATION OF WASHINGTON. 169 

ing of the tumult, despatched a strong force to check the insurgents ; 
but before its arrival the disorder had subsided. The future history 
of the private soldiers of the Revolution is soon told ; but the story- 
is a painful one, and we would willingly have excused ourselves the 
task. On the day appointed the men were disbanded, and many of 
them started to return home, without a penny in their pockets or 
decent clothing to their backs. Some had to travel long distances, 
and were frequently on the point of starvation. Others were com- 
pelled to obtain their food at the point of the bayonet. A few were 
received with gratitude, and assisted along their route. They 
returned home to find their parents dead, or their families scattered, 
or their patrimonial property ruined by long neglect. Some carried 
with them the seeds of diseases, contracted by long exposure to 
inclement skies, which rendered them invalids for the rest of their 
lives. Others were cripples already, and had nothing but beggary 
in prospect. Of all the veterans thus disbanded, a few, comparatively 
only a few, survived long enough to obtain, in the shape of a pen- 
sion, some late return for their sacrifices; but the great majority died 
I before this boon came, the victims either of disease, or beggaiy, or 
broken spirits. How little do we estimate the price at which our 
liberties were obtained ! 

The city of New York was finally evacuated by the British on 
the 25th of November, 1783; and the same day Washington, attended 
by Governor Clinton, entered it with his army. On the 4th of De- 
cember he took leave of his officers. The scene was peculiarly 
affecting. Many there present had followed him through the whole 
eight years of the contest : had shared adversity and privation, as 
well as triumph and security with their beloved leader ; and the re- 
membrance of these scenes, united to the consciousness that they 
should probably never see him again, wrung tears from their eyes 
and choked their voices with sobs, as they took his hand in farewell. 
Washington himself could not conceal his emotion. After he had 
parted from them formally, they followed him to the water-side, 
where he embarked in a barge for Paulus Hook ; and as long as the 
venerated form was in sight, they continued on the wharf, straining 
their eyes through the distance. 

Washington proceeded to Annapolis, where Congress was in ses- 
sion ; and there, in a public audience of that body, resigned his com- 
mission. He expressed, with modest dignity, his intention of return- 
ing to private life. " Having finished the work assigned me," were 
his words, " I now retire from the great theatre of action." Memo- 
22 p 



170 



THE WAR OF INDEPEXDENCK. 



lable language ! Would that other successful revolutionary leaders, 
the Crom wells and Napoleons of history, had imitated his example; 
then of the various struggles for freedom which the world has seen, 
ours would not have been the only permanently successful one. 




f 





MOUNT VERNON. 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

^ \ pursuing into its detail the story of the 
Jjt Revoiution, the obvious course is to study 



the hves and characters of its most eminent 
actors. Biography is indeed the best part 
of history. We can never fully understand 
.my great event in the annals of a nation, 
until we have made ourselves masters of 
the private motives of the leaders who 
participated in it. There are occurrences 
on every page of the past which would 
otherwise be inexplicable. History, as 
usually written, is too dignified and stately to inform us of those 
little traits which yet go far towards deciding the destinies of na- 
tions ; but biography, more natural, unfolds to us the private life of 
the great actors on the world's stage, and makes us, as it were, their 
familiar companions. History is the dial-plate, on which grand re- 
sults only are marked : biography lays open the interior, and shows 
us the secret springs within. 

It is impossible to understand the war of independence until after 

p* 173 




174 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLITTION. 

a long and patient study of the character of Washington. Perhaps 
no other man could have carried the nation through that crisis. 
There was more than one period during the war when the cause 
would have been lost but for his prudence and skill ; he held the 
army together, he inspired confidence, he breathed only resolution 
when others despaired. The trust reposed in his virtue and ability 
was the cohesive principle of the struggle. Place any other of the 
men, originally proposed, in his station, and imagine what would 
have been the fatal consequences ! Lee would have ruined the 
cause by his rashness, after having alienated the officers by his 
tyranny : Gates would have been depressed by the first defeat, or 
exhilarated by victory to a delirium of folly. Some would have 
quarrelled with Congress before the third year: others would have 
hazarded too much or too little. Washington alone, of all the earlier 
military leaders, possessed that union of moderation and daring — of 
prudence and ability — but above all, that consummate judgment, 
and that reputation for exalted virtue, which were necessary, with 
undisciplined troops, and in a nation distracted by party strife as 
much as by local prejudices, to secure a triumphant result to the 
contest. The impression became general even before the close of 
the second campaign, that Washington was the only man capable 
of carrying the country successfully through the war. All eyes were 
turned to him instinctively in seasons of peril. Nor did he disappoint 
these expectations. In studying the war of independence we see 
Washington ever in the front. August and high he towers at the 
head, as of old the pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night moved 
in the van of Israel. 

Yet the character of Washington would be better appreciated, if 
it was more irregular. The exact and perfect harmony of all its 
members, as in a well-proportioned temple, conceals from us its col- 
lossal magnitude : nor can we do justice even to the parts singly, so 
exactly is each adapted to its fellow, and so symmetrically do they 
all melt into the whole. It is a common remark, that his letters have 
too much the air of state-papers : that his character, as exhibited 
there, is cold, impassive, rigid. This is because he is always himself. 
If he had given way to his passions, like other men : if he had pos- 
sessed some one quality more prominently than others : if he had 
been merely a great captain, or a wise statesman, or an incorruptible 
patriot, his character might have seemed more forcible : but because 
lie was all of these, men scarcely give him the credit of being either. 
At present, the gigantic career of Napoleon leads captive the popu- 
lar fancy. But though the memory of his genius will endure forever. 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 175 

the estimation of his character sinks lower with every generation. 
The fame of Washington, on the contrary, though it may be occa- 
sionally obscured,. by more intense, yet less durable luminaries, 
gleams out afresh when the meteor has passed, calm and steady and 
undying. It has been well remarked, that in the closing careers of 
these two men, we may trace a harmony with the rest of their lives. 
Napoleon, after storming through Europe, destroying and elevating 
Kings, died, at last, an exile ; and the elements without, as if in sym- 
pathy with his tempestuous soul, raged in their wildest commotion. 
Washington, after reaping the reward of his patriotic services, in 
being elevated by the free gift of the people, to the place of their 
ruler, closed his career in the bosom of his family, while a nation 
wept at his grave. Napoleon, after all his conquests, left no perma- 
nent dynasty in Europe. Washington, less ambitious, was the 
chief founder of a mighty republic. The power of Napoleon, won 
by force of arms, was written in sand ; that of Washington, sprung 
from, and perpetuated by patriotism, will be immortal. 

George Washington, the son of a plain farmer, was born at 
Bridge's Creek, in Westmoreland county, Virginia, the 22nd of 
February, 1732. He was only ten years old when he lost his father. 
His education which was derived from a private tutor, was good, 
though not elegant : a knowledge of the ordinary English branches, 
to which was afterwards added the mathematics, comprising it all. 
What he studied, however, he acquired thoroughly. He early 
imbibed habits of method, especially in the despatch of business, 
which attended him through life. At the age of fifteen, he procured 
a midshipman's warrant, and was about to enter a royal ship then 
stationed on the coast, when, at the entreaties of his mother, he 
abandoned his design. The mother of Washington appears, at all 
times, to have exercised a powerful influence over him. Not only 
did she early implant into his mind those moral and religious princi- 
ples which guided him in after life ; but her advice frequently 
influenced him, even when he had become the leader of armies, and 
the head of a mighty people. 

Washington for some years, followed the profession of a surveyor. 
He early displayed a taste for military aflairs. At the age of nine- 
teen, he was appointed Adjutant-General of the militia, with the rank 
of Major. In 1753, when Govern6r Dinwiddle wished to send a mes- 
senger to the French fort on the western frontier, in order to warn the 
commander against his encroachments on the territory of Virginia, 
he selected Washington for this delicate and hazardous task. The 
duty was performed, in less than three months, amid perils, fatigue 



176 



THE HKKOKS OF THE RKVOLUTKJN. 




Washington's interview with the commander of the French fort. 



and difficulties almost innumerable. In 1754, Washington marched, 
with the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, as second in command, against 
the French on the Ohio ; and his superior dying, the responsibility 
of the expedition devolved wholly on himself. He had advanced 
hut part of his way, when he heard of the approach of a superior 
force, on which he fell back, and entrenched himself at a place 
railed Fort Necessity. A severe aoti(m ensued, the result of which 
was an honorable capitulation, by which the Americans retained 
their arms and baggage, and were allowed to return unmolested 
home. 

In the meantime, Washington, by the death of his elder brother, 
had become possessed of the estate of Mount Vernon : and to this 
place he now retired, and devoted himself to agriculture. An 
order having been received from England, commanding that 
officers commissioned by the King should take rank of the pro- 
vincial officers, Washington indignantly threw up his commis- 
sion. In the spring of 1 755, however, he accepted an invitation 
from General Braddock to act as his Aid-de-camp ; and it is 
to his exertions, chiefly, that the British army was not totally 
annihilated on the bloody field of Monongahela. In 1758, Wash- 
ington commanded the Virginia troops, in the expedition against 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 177 

Fort du Qiiesne, but finding the place, on his arival, abandoned, 
the army returned without a battle. During the whole of the four 
years, between 1755 and 1759, he was actively engaged, at the 
head of his regiment, in defending the western frontier. In the 
latter year he resigned this second commission, and retired again to 
private hfe. Soon after, he married Mrs. Custis, a young, beautiful, 
and wealthy widow : and, for the next twenty years devoted him- 
self to the cultivation of his estates, and the enjoyment of that 
domestic repose of which he was so fond. 

Washington, during this period, frequently sei'ved in the legislature 
of his native state ; and early took part with those who resisted the 
encroachments of Great Britain. His large fortune made his accession 
to the popular side a matter of importance ; and, though too modest 
to thrust himself forward, he at once acquired great influence. In 
the various discussions that arose, he rarely spoke, but when he did, 
his opinion was listened to with avidity, for the accuracy of his 
judgment had already passed into a proverb. He was a member 
of the first Congress, in 1774, where his solidity of mind soon distin- 
guished him above the mass. On all military subjects, especially, 
his opinion was listened to with the greatest deference. In 1775, 
after the news of the battle of Lexington, Congress proceeded to form 
a continental army, of which Washington Avas unanimously elected 
Commander-in-chief He proceeded at once to Cambridge, in Massa- 
chussetts ; and his history, from this period to the close of the contest, 
becomes the history of the war. 

In 1783, when peace was established, he resigned his commission, 
and once more sought the repose and privacy of Mount Vernon. 
Here he remained until 1787, when he was persuaded from his 
retreat, to lend his name and influence to the Convention whicli 
framed the present federal Constitution. In 1789, he was unani- 
mously elected the first President of the United States : and in 1793, 
he was re-elected, though against his private wishes, for a second 
term. The eight years of his administration form, perhaps, the 
most important in our civil annals ; as, during that period, the con- 
stitution, if we may use so homely a phrase, was put into working 
order. In 1796, notwithstanding the entreaties of his friends, Wash- 
ington retired from his elevated position, with the determination never 
again to enter public life. He was shaken from his purpose, in a 
measure, by the threatened French war of 1798, when he was 
appointed Commander-in-chief of the army to be raised, with 
extraordinary privileges. But his days were now drawing to a 
close. On the 13th of December, 1799, he was caught in a shower 
23 



178 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTIOX. 

of rain, while riding over his farm ; and a violent inflammation of 
the windpipe ensuing, he died on the following day, in the sixty- 
eiglrth year of his age. We have thus hurried over the events of 
his life, professing to do little more than glance at them in chro- 
nological order, because his biography is familiar to all. We pass, 
as speedily as possible, to a consideration of his character, in its 
three-fold capacity of the leader, the patriot, and the hero ! 

As a MILITARY LEADER, Washington possessed one rare and 
valuable quality — a consummate judgment, which rarely, or never 
led him wrong. His mind was singularly impartial and comprehen- 
sive. No sophistry could deceive him. He took in every bearing 
of the subject on which he was called to give an opinion. Other 
men burrowed, amid narrow veins, and saw but one aspect : he 
soared so high that every side came under his vision at once. 
Though, like all Generals, he committed occasional errors, they 
were usually of comparatively little importance. There is no great 
movement of his, in stratagy or tactics, which can be considered a 
positive blunder. He early saw that the war, in consequence of the 
inefficiency of his troops, was to be carried on chiefly with the spade 
and pick ; and accordingly, he changed at once the whole character 
of his operations, and stood on the defensive. This he continued to 
do year after year, until he had made an army of veterans, when 
he suddenly resorted to the aggressive again, and closed his military 
career with the brilliant aflair at Yorktown. Nearly every enter- 
prise of the war, against which his advice was given, terminated 
disastrously. He recommended all those measures which either 
resulted favorably, or were rendered abortive only by unforeseen 
accidents. It was as rare to find Washington's judgment wrong, as 
it is usual to find that of ordinary men right. Its accuracy has 
passed into a proverb. 

But Washington possessed another quality, of the most signal 
importance to a General. He had an iron will. Intellect is of little 
avail, unless the will is resolute. Many persons might have suc- 
ceeded in great designs, if they had been gifted with the nerve to 
execute what the brain conceived. An iron will had been Wash- 
ington's characteristic from boyhood ; and in mature life it did not 
desert him. When his mind was once satisfied of the justice and 
necessity of an act, he was, of all men, the most inflexible in per- 
forming it. This is shown by his conduct in Andre's case, where 
he signed the death-warrant, although he shed tears in the act. 
This is exhibited, also, in his behavior in the affair of young Asgill, 
where he remained immoveable, though at great pain of mind to 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 179 

himself, until Congress interfered and released the unfortunate youth. 
This iron will led him, after he had once embarked in a measure, to 
carry it through at all hazards. During his Presidency, at the 
period of the Jay treaty, when the House of Representatives refused 
the necessary appropriation, his memorable message awed down 
all opposition, and settled a most important precedent forever. His 
iron will turned the tide of battle at Monmouth, and changed defeat 
into victory. His iron will led him to write to Congress, when 
Lord North's conciliatory bills arrived, in 1778, — " Nothing short 
of independence, it appears to me, can possibly do." It was his 
iron will which spoke out in the dark crisis of 1776, when, instead 
of harboring a thought of submission, he proposed, in case Philadel- 
phia fell, to retire to the AUeghanies. It was this iron will, almost 
as much as his genius or patriotism, which carried America through 
the war. Men saw his bold front in the storm, and took courage 
to brave it out ! 

He was not less remarkable for high daring. This is a charac- 
teristic usually denied him, because circumstances forced him to 
hold it in check. But, from boyhood, Washington was celebrated 
for a bold and adventurous spirit, which carried him into the midst 
of dangers and difficulties from which others shrank. In wrestling, 
leaping, and in all athletic exercises, he would sutler no one to sur- 
pass him. His spirit of daring, so judiciously combined with a good 
judgment, recommended him to Gov. Dinwiddle, as a suitable per- 
son to execute the celebrated mission to the French post upon the 
lake. Twice, when lying before Boston, he wished to assault the 
town ; but was prevented by the council of officers, with which 
Congress, at that time, fettered him ; and his correspondence evinces 
how much he chafed under the restraint. It is strange into what 
contradictions men fall ! Those who deny him daring are the very 
ones who complahi of his anxiety to assault Boston, prophesying 
that, if the storm had taken place, it would have been promptly 
repulsed. Washington want daring ! Then have Monmouth, and 
Princeton, and Trenton told their tales in vain. 

If Washington had died immediately after the latter battle, he 
would have left a very ditferent impression in popular history. The 
memory of that dashing campaign, alone surviving, would have won 
for him the name of the Napoleon of America. Men would have 
prognosticated that, in case he had survived, the meteoric career of 
the Corsican would have been anticipated on this continent. How 
imperfect is human reason ! It was not possible, in a country like 
America, to play continuously the same bold game of war. Wash- 



180 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

ington liad not the troops, with which to hazard such enterprises, 
unless in rare periods of spasmodic excitement, when enthusiasm 
supphed, for the monieut, the confidence of veterans. It was in the 
acute perception he liad of this fact that he showed his genius. We 
beUeve that Napoleon, if he had heen in Washington's situation, 
would have temporized as much as he: and if he had not tempo- 
rized, we are sure he would have been the worse General. The 
original bent of Washington's mind was to bold and rapid measures. 
But, finding that, in consequence of short enlistments, the bulk of 
his army was destined to be composed of raw recruits, he resolved 
to adopt a cautious policy, and to this resolution he firmly adhered, 
sacrificing, in so doing, his natural inclination, and even his personal 
fame. Abandoning all hope of speedy and dazzling success, he set 
himself to work to make the best of his miserable army. He had 
to deal, however, not only with them, but with a careless, often an 
ignorant, and, on some occasions, even a factious Congress, which 
continually neglected, if it did not thwart his views. It is the 
remark of Professor Smith, of Cambridge University, in England, 
that no General ever contended successfully, for so long a period, 
with such ditficulties as Washington. This is high testimony, from 
an impartial source. 

In personal courage, Washington was pre-eminent. At the battle 
of Monongahela, after the fall of Braddock, the salvation of the 
army devolved on his exertions ; and in endeavoring to preserve the 
troops, he galloped incessantly through the thickest of the fight, a 
conspicuous mark for the enemy. An Indian chief afterwards 
declared that he had ordered his young men to fire, five times, at 
Washington. Two horses were shot under him ; and four balls 
passed through his coat. His fellow aids sank beside him. The 
soldiers, as they stood in their ranks, went down like corn smitten 
by a whirlwind. Yet he continued, amid this carnage, as coo as 
on a parade. At Kipp's Bay, after the battle of Long Island, per- 
ceiving his men flying before the foe, he rushed in the van, and 
presented his bosom to the hurricane of balls, in the desperate, but 
vain eff'ort to shame the troops into courage. At Princeton, on a 
similar emergency, he seized a standard, and galloping between the 
enemy and his hesitating soldiers, waved it above his head to cheer 
them on, his tall form towering indignant above the smoke of battle, 
like one of the old Homeric gods. At Germantown it was neces- 
sary to force him from the field. Washington never remained idly 
in his tent, like Gates ; but was ever present in the actual strife, 
ready, if occasion required, to flame in the foremost fray ' 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 



181 







WASHINGTON S HEAD-QUARTEBS AT CAMBRIDGE. 



Washington possessed another qualification, which is usually re- 
garded as the peculiar gift of genius, an insight into character bor- 
dering on the miraculous. If he wished a task performed, of 
whatever description, he knew, at once, who was most capable to 
execute it. He had scarcely been at Cambridge a week, before he 
had determined the exact value of each of his Generals : and it is 
astonishing to find how invariably his estimate of each was confirmed 
by subsequent events. Putnam he pronounced an admirable exe- 
cutive officer : and words could not have described that hero better. 
He selected Arnold for the enterprise of invading Canada, by the 
then untrodden route of the Kennebec ; and, perhaps, no other man 
in the whole army could have crossed that wilderness as he did. Of 
the value of Greene he was aware from the first, as is evident by 
the reliance he placed in that officer's judgment ; although five years 
were destined to elapse before the country at large, or even the 
army, could become sensible of the comprehensive intellect of the 
Rhode Island General. Washington always, in private, acknow- 



182 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

ledged the inefficiency of Gates, and of numerous others, who, be- 
ginning with liigh re)nitations, finished in disgrace and retirement. 

In strategy liis skill is proved by the fear with which he infected 
the enemy. Howe was always trembling lest he should find himself 
unexpectedly surrounded or entrapped. Tlie march from the Hud- 
son to Virginia, with the whole series of manoeuvres ending in the 
capture of Cornwallis, was scarcely a less brilliant affair, though on 
a smaller scale, than the famous advance of Napoleon, from Bou- 
logne up the valley of the Rhine, ending in the capture of Ulm and the 
battle of Austerlitz. It must not be forgotten that Washington planned, 
in a great degree, both the northern and southern series of operations, 
which led respectively to the capture of Burgoyne and the expulsion 
of the English from South Carolina. In the former campaign it was 
Washhigton who called out the New England militia under Lincoln; 
who despatched Morgan to the camp of Gates ; and who advised, in 
conjunction with Schuyler, the breaking up of the roads, which, by 
delaying Burgoyne's advance, did more towards effecting his sur- 
render than even the battle of Saratoga. It was Washington, who, 
in conjunction with Greene, sketched the outline of the southern 
campaign, which terminated so triumphantly. In fact, the caution 
of the British Generals throughout the whole war, evinces their opi- 
nion of the superior skill of Washington ; for, in no other way can 
we explain their inactivity, with forces often superior to his numeri- 
cally, and always so in discipline, appointments, and confidence in 
themselves. Had Washington been a worse strategist — had he even 
been less of a tactician — he would have had to fight two battles 
where he fought one, and fight them at a disadvantage ; but it is a 
remarkable fact, that he never, during the whole contest, delivered 
a pitched battle at the choice of the enemy. Napoleon, during his 
career, was continually forcing his enemies to fight against their 
will : the British Generals never could, by any series of manoeuvres, 
compel Washington to this. Cornwallis was, perhaps, the best of 
the English Generals, and enjoyed a high reputation for strategy 
and skill ; yet he was surrounded at Yorktown by an army coming 
from a distance of three hundred miles. Why had Washington no 
Yorktown ? Not, certainly, from want of inviting opportunities for 
the British. After the battle of Long Island ; again when crossing 
the Jerseys in 1776; on the Assunpink ; at Valley Forge; and in 
other emergencies, he was in the most desperate straits, yet he al- 
ways found, in the resources of his capacious mind, some means of 
escape. If four Generals in succession, besides several entire armies, 
failed to conquer America, it was not on account of want of talent 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 183 

or means on the part of the enemy ; but because the genius of Wash- 
ington proved too gigantic for any, or all of his competitors. Like 
the victorious challenger in Ivanhoe, he overthrew, in succession, 
every antagonist that ventured against him, until the enemy being 
wearied out, and the lists cleared, he remained master of the field. 

It has become the fashion, of late years, to depreciate the military 
genius of Washington. This is the result, perhaps, not so much of 
malice, as of positive ignorance of his merits in the war of indepen- 
dence ! We will not compare him with Napoleon, for such a con- 
trast would be illogical, Washington never having had the means 
at his command to perform the prodigies of that extraordinary man. 
The largest army ever led by the American commander was smaller 
than the smallest that ever fought under the French Emperor. The 
one strode the stage in every thing colossal : the other moved in a 
narrower sphere and with fewer means. The popular mind is always 
more affected by the intelligence of a great battle, in which hundreds 
of thousands of men combatted, than by the despatch announcing 
the victory of a comparatively small force, even though greater skill 
may have been evinced by the latter. There is something in gigan- 
tic slaughter impressing the mind with mysterious awe. It is not the 
wonderful series of battles fought by Napoleon in Champaigne, 
which has left the most profound impression on the mass ; but the 
terrific contests of Eylau, Austerlitz, Wagram, and that crowning 
hecatomb of all, Waterloo ! In perusing the description of the first 
battle at Dresden, where five hundred cannon on the allied side 
alone, cresting the heights around that city, shook the solid moun- 
tains with their explosions, the reader is carried away by a sort 
of wild enthusiasm ; and when he follows the story to the last despe- 
rate struggle at Leipsig, where three hundred thousand men poured 
down on little more than half that number, and where the roar and 
blaze of two thousand pieces of artillery convulsed earth and sky, his 
feelings become excited to a pitch that is uncontrollable. So, too, 
when, at Waterloo, he sees wave after wave of French infantry and 
cavalry sweep up the declivity on which the British stood, and beat- 
ing vainly against their solid squares, roll back shattered into atoms ; 
when he marks the sun rising to the zenith, then halting, as it were, 
at noon, and then, resuming his course, declining at last towards the 
west, yet all this while, the thunder of the cannon and the shock of 
charging squadrons continuing unabated, while the clatter of sabres 
rises up like the ringing of ten thousand anvils ; when, as night be- 
gins to fall, he witnesses that last column of the old guard marshalled 
for the attack — beholds their silent, steady march as they descend 



184 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

into the valley and begin to mount the opposite ascent — marks the 
point where, meeting the concentric fire of the English batteries, 
their head melts away, like an icicle in a summer sun — and finally, 
perceives the whole British line suddenly appear over the crest, as 
if rising at an enchanter's summons, and then, with loud huzzas, 
advancing on the assailants, push them by main force down the hill, 
where rout, confusion, dismay and horror ensue, until Napoleon 
himself exclaiming, in bitter anguish, ^'^ c^est fini,'" is dragged from 
the field : — when he sees all this, he forgets himself, and in the mag- 
nitude and splendor of the theme, flings down the book, transported, 
for the moment, into more than mortal enthusiasm ! After such 
fields as Waterloo, he may be excused for thinking all others tame. 
It does not surprise us, therefore, to see the battle-fields of the 
Revolution neglected, or the military genius of Washington and his 
Generals depreciated. The mass must always be dazzled before it 
can bow down and worship. In any comparison, in the popular mind, 
between Napoleon and Washington as Generals, the one rises to a 
demi-god, while the other sinks almost below a man. Yet, it is a 
serious question, Avhether the ditFerence between the two is as great 
as even the most ardent admirers of the latter have supposed. Na- 
poleon himself was accustomed to say that the battles of Trenton 
and Princeton had first suggested to him his own daring system of 
warfare. If merit is to be measured by the results obtained, Wash- 
ington was certainly one of the greatest Generals on record. If 
genius is shown in moulding an army out of the most unpromising 
materials, the American commander stands without a rival in the 
page of history. Never had a military chief so many obstacles to 
encounter. His army, composed at first of wholly undisciplined 
troops, was continually changing, so that, at no time, had he any 
considerable number of veterans on whom he could rely : and instead 
of wielding the whole resources of the country with absolute despot- 
ism, he was frequently thwarted in his best schemes by Congress. 
There is not a battle in Napoleon's history which we can say would 
have been gained, if his troops had been as ill-accoutred, and of the 
same material as those of the American commander. Looking only 
at the disparity of the royal and patriotic armies in mere numbers, 
without any reference to the superiority of the former in all that 
constitutes a soldier, it seems a miracle, in a military point of view, 
that the British Generals did not annihilate Washington in the first 
year of the contest. It is usual to attribute their failure to the indo- 
mitable spirit of the American people. This is, in part, true ; but 
only in part. In examining the revolutionary annals, we find, with 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 



185 



pain, less of this spirit than we had been led to suppose : and far too 
little, unassisted of other influences, to have achieved our indepen- 
dence. So long as the cause seemed prosperous, there were friends 
enough to liberty ; but when the contest began to look hopeless, the 
British protections were eagerly accepted. It is useless to disguise the 
shameful fact. After the retreat of Washington across the Jerseys, 
in 1776, nearly the whole of that state went over to the royal side ; 




COPY OF A GOLD MEDAL PRESENTED TO WASHINGTON BY CONGRESS. 



Pennsylvania began also to waver ; and but for the unconquerable 
resolution of the American commander, and that of some other 
equally indomitable souls in Congress and the army, the whole 
cause would have gone by the board. The ship had already struck, 
and it is not too much to say, that Washington, in that crisis, was 
the main bolt that held her from parting into a thousand pieces. 
Had he wavered one instant in his public correspondence, or had 
the battle of Trenton been lost, instead of gained, we have every 
reason to believe there would have ensued one of the most shame- 
ful spectacles of defection recorded in history. There would have 
been a scramble to desert the patriotic side, each man seeking to be 
the first to merit the royal clemency and favor. What happened in 
South Carolina, and in New Jersey, should warn us of what would 
24 Q* 



186 THK HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

have happened in other places. If two of the most patriotic states 
abandoned, almost to a man, the popular side, what would have 
been the result if the army of Washington had been crushed at 
Trenton — if he himself had been made a prisoner or killed — if all 
organized opposition thereafter, had been put hopelessly at an end ? 

Tiie battle of Trenton, so often alluded to in these remarks, was 
the turning point of the contest. The character of Washington can- 
not be understood without a perfect comprehension of that atiair, 
with all its attendant circumstances. It is because the importance 
of this battle has never been made sufficiently clear, that Washing- 
ton is regarded as indecisive ; that the title of the American Fabius, 
and no more, is applied to him ; that he is denied the genhis for bold 
and sudden enterprises. Yet there is nowhere in the annals of 
history, an undertaking of greater daring than the movement on 
Trenton, Washington was not unaware that, if the attack failed, 
escape, with the wintry Delaware behind him, would have been 
impossible : he staked, therefore, not only his own life, but the exist- 
ence of his army, and with it the question of independence or sub- 
mission, then and forever. In deciding to march on Trenton, he 
emphatically put everything " at the hazard of a die." There can 
be no doubt that, when he landed on the Jersey shore, on that 
eventful morning, he had made up his mind to conquer or perish. 
It was no half-way measure. The axe and scaffold were before him 
in case of capture ; ruin to his family and country in the event of 
death or defeat. He resolved to hazard the stroke. Flinging him- 
self, like Leonidas at Thermopylae, into the last pass, he determined 
to hurl back the invader, or immolate himself and his army ! 

And he was right! The campaign of 1776, up to the surprise 
at Trenton, had been only a series of disasters. Defeat had followed 
defeat, and defection defection, until the boldest trembled for life and 
liberty. The enemy had gained possession of Rhode Island, Long 
Island, the city of New York, Staten Island, and nearly the wliole 
of the Jerseys : and now, separated only by the Delaware, from 
Philadelphia, they might be expected, every moment, to seize that 
city. Congress had already fled to Baltimore. Lee, on whom so 
much reliance had been placed, was a captive. The army, lately 
lifteen thousand strong, had dwindled down, by defeats, by desertion, 
by the expiration of enlistments, and by sickness, to scarcely two 
thousand men : and these, illy clothed, and so poorly equipped that 
they scarcely deserved the name of troops, had barely escaped 
;icross the Delaware, from the hot pursuit of Cornwallis. The 
British were pressing on with twenty-five thousand men ! A procla- 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 187 

luation had been published jomtly by Lord Howe and his brother, 
offering pardon in the King's name to all, who, in sixty days, should 
take the oath of allegiance, and come under his protection : and 
many persons, among them men of wealth and influence, not only 
m New Jersey, but in Pennsylvania, had accepted these terms. 
Himdreds of others hesitated, ready to be decided, the instant the 
royal army crossed the Delaware. The panic was universal, and 
spread even to the common people. The hurricane prostrated every- 
thing before it. 

Waslyngton, almost alone, stood unappalled. From the moment 
he had crossed the Delaware, and gained thus a respite for his troops, 
he had been revolving in his mind a plan to change, by one bold act, 
the scales of war. He was assisted, in his resolution, by the alacrity 
with which the Pennsylvania militia began to turn out. A large 
body of these men, under the command of General Cadwalader, 
had already assembled at Bristol, and further accessions were 
daily expected from the yeomanry of the eastern counties, now 
thoroughly aroused. By neither his counsels nor his conduct did 
Washington betray a thought of yielding. " If Philadelphia falls," 
he said in public, " we must retreat beyond the Susqiiehannah, and 
thence, if necessary, to the Alleghany JNIountains." His letters, for 
a fortnight before the battle, all point to the stroke he was maturing 
in his mind. No historical fact can be more certain than that the 
idea of the surprise first originated with himself: though, as he had 
spoken of the necessity of some such measure frequently before, 
others came at last to suggest it, or a similar movement. The plan, 
as finalh^ resolved on, was all his own. The British lay at Trenton, 
fifteen hundred strong ; while smaller detachments occupied Burling- 
ton, Boixlentowii, Black-Horse, and Mount Holly. Washington, in 
person, proposed to cross the Delaware with the continental troops, 
above Trenton : while Ewing, with a portion of the Pennsylvania 
militia, should cross below, and both unite in an attack on that place. 
Cadwallader, with the rest, was to cross at Bristol. In the end, 
neither of the two latter were able to eftect their part of the plan : 
hence, for the present we shall leave them and follow Washington. 

The night of the 25th of December had been selected for the 
attack, because it was supposed the enemy, on that festive occasion, 
would be more or less off" his guard. Early in the afternoon, accord- 
ingly, the troops were mustered at McConkey's Ferry, on the west 
side of the Delaware, eight miles above Trenton. The weather had 
been unusually warm for the season, until within a day or two 
before, when it had set in cold ; and the river was now full of ice, 



188 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



grinding and rumbling in the tide, with the noise of thunder. In 
consequence of this obstacle, the army, which it had been calculated 
would pass over by midnight, was not able to reach the eastern shore 
until after four o'clock ; and at times, it seemed impossible that it 
could cross at all. During these awful moments of suspense, Wash- 



s^^^ 








WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE. 



jn^ton sat, exposed to all the rigors of the night, eyeing the progress 
of the boats, Avhich, now jamned in between large masses of ice, 
and now nearly over-lapped by fragments of the same material, 
piling one above another, — threatened momentarily to be engulphed. 
The wind roared among the skeleton trees that lined the shore ; the 
crashing and splitting of the ice filled the wind with images of 
terror ; and occasionally gusts of hail and sleet, premonitory of the 
coming tempest, dashed fiercely in the face. Yet still he sat, on that 
rude seat prepared for him near the shore, unmoved, yet filled with 
mtense anxiety, and watching the struggling boats, by the light of 
the few stars, which broke, here and there, through the stormy rack 
of heaven. 

His force consisted of about twenty-four hundred men, with 
twenty brass field-pieces. The distance from the landing place to 
Trenton, by the river road, is eight miles ; but, by the more cir- 
cuitous Pennington road, rather more. Washington's plan was to 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 189 

divide his forces, allowing Sullivan, with one half, to take the river 
road, while he, with the remainder, should pursue the longer route, 
timing their progress in such a way, however, as to enable both to 
reach the opposite sides of Trenton at the same time, and thus make 
a simultaneous attack. Accordingly, after proceeding a mile in 
company, the two divisions parted. Washington watched the troops 
of Sullivan until they faded in the gloom, and then turned to follow 
Greene's division, which was already some distance in advance. 
The night was fast growing darker. The snow, which had hitherto 
come only in squalls, now began to fall steadily, accompanied occa- 
sionally with hail and sleet. The flakes, thick and whirling, 
obscured the way ; the icy particles rattled on the knapsacks ; and 
the wind moaned across the landscape, as if wailing over the 
approaching ruin of America. Many of the soldiers were scantily 
clothed : a few had neither stockings nor shoes, but, as they marched, 
left their bloody footsteps in the snow. The tempest roared louder 
and fiercer, increasing every moment. Yet still the men toiled on. 
Some of them noticed that the wet had spoiled their powder, and 
on this being reported to Washington, he remarked, with resolution, 
" then we must fight with the bayonet." Every one felt, with their 
leader, that it was the hour of crisis : and so, though shivering and 
weary, they toiled resolutely on. They were yet two miles from 
Trenton when the dawn began to break. Two of their number, 
exhausted and frozen, dropped from their ranks and died. But the 
others still pressed on. History, perhaps, presents no parallel to 
that eventful march. No martial band was there to exhilarate 
the men ; no gilded banner floated on high ; no splendid forest of 
sabres guarded that infantry, toiling on its way, with triple rows of 
steel. In silence, like the Spartans of old, the Americans pursued 
their route. The inhabitants of the farm houses they passed, half 
waking from slumber, fancied, for a moment, there were strange 
sounds upon the breeze ; but imagining what they heard only the 
intonations of the tempest, they turned and slept again, httle 
thinking that the destiny of their country quivered, that hour, in the 
balance. 

Washington rode beside his scanty band, oppressed with anxious 
thoughts. Even more taciturn than usual, he scarcely exchanged a 
syllable with his stafi;'. His mighty bosom, we may well suppose, 
was oppressed with the awful crisis approaching. Everything hung 
on the next half hour. The accidental discharge of a musket, the 
timely warning of a single traitor might ruin all. Never did his 
anxiety rise to such a pitch as now. At last, word was passed down 



190 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

the line in a whisper that the outposts of the enemy were close at 
hand; and now the great hero rode forward to the head of his 
troops. The moment of destiny had arrived. Washington endea- 
vored, for an instant, to penetrate with his vision, the gloom ahead : 
then reining up his steed, he turned to his troops, his sword pointed 
in the advance. The front ranks only were in sound of his voice, 
but they pressed around him to hear his words. " Soldiers," he 
said, " now, or never ! This is our last chance — march on !" 

His voice was husky as he spoke, for all the mighty responsibili- 
ties of the crisis had crowded on his mind ! But the tone of that 
voice, the stirring eloquence of those brief words, filled the hearts of 
his hearers with one common sentiment, which they expressed in 
their glances, as they looked, with half glistening eyes at each 
other! — it was to conquer or die ! The address was repeated from 
mouth to mouth, along the line, and thrilled every heart. Involun- 
tarily the men, as they listened, grasped their muskets more firmly, 
and stepped quicker on. All was now breathless excitement. 
Suddenly a house loomed up through the fog ahead ! The next 
moment a challenge was heard : answers were rapidly exchanged ; 
and then a hurried discharge of musketry blazed irregularly through 
the storm. The picquet of the enemy had been surprised. " For- 
ward," rung out in the deep tones of Washington, at that instant ; and 
with the word, the men started like hounds let loose from the leash, 
poured in a withering fire, and driving the picquet furiously before 
them, pursued it to the outskirts of the town. 

In Trenton, the night had been one of festivity. The soldiers 
were mostly in the beer-shops carousing : and even the officers had 
given themselves up to mirth. Col. Rahl had been engaged, all 
night, at his head-quarters playing cards, and it is a tradition that a 
note, conveying intelligence of the contemplated attack, had been 
delivered to- him about midnight, but being occupied with the game, 
he had slipped it into his pocket, and afterwards forgot it. A more 
authentic story is, that General Grant, at Princeton, forwarded the 
note, and that Rahl acted on it at once ; but an advance party 
returning from the Jerseys to Pennsylvania, about two hours before 
the real attack, fell in with the Hessian picquet, and being repulsed, 
this was supposed to be the intended surprise. In consequence, the 
Hessians had relapsed into greater security than ever. On the noise 
of the firing at the outposts, Rahl stopped and listened : the driving 
sleet pattering against the window panes, for a moment deceived 
him ; but then, loud and distinct, succeeded the rattle of musketry : 
he dropped his cards, sprang to the door, and looked out. At that 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 191 

instant some of the Hessian soldiers came running down tlie street, 
exclaiming that Washington was upon them. Rahl shouted to arms, 
and called for his horse. He sprang into the saddle : the drums 
beat ; and in an instant the whole town was in a tumult. The sol- 
diers rushed from their quarters, some with, some without arms ; 
the officers were heard calling to their men, and endeavoring to form 
the ranks ; while the inhabitants, hurrying to their doors and win- 
dows, looked out, a moment, at the storm and uproar, and then 
hastened to conceal themselves in the most secret recesses of their 
dwellings. 

The Hessian outpost, as it fled, kept up a desultory fire, its men 
dodging from house to house, like Indians in a frontier fight. On 
approaching the town, Washington saw the enemy already drawn up 
to receive him : Rahl galloping hither and thither, eager to make 
up for his want of caution, by energy and boldness. The American 
commander instantly ordered up the artillery. Quick as lightning, 
Knox galloped to the front, unlimbered his guns, and swept the 
solid ranks before him, with a storm of fiery sleet. The infantry, 
on right and left, meantime poured in their musketry. A dropping 
fire from the enemy replied. Another round of cannon and small 
arms followed : and then the Hessians were seen perceptibly to 
waver. At this instant, the rattle of musketry was heard coming 
from the opposite end of the town, where SuUivan was expected to 
enter. The enemy were in the net : escape was impossible. The 
enthusiasm was now unbounded, and the men, cheering, swept 
onwards with accelerated pace ; while the Hessians, wildly breaking 
their ranks, drove before them in rapid and tumultuous flight. 

The city of Trenton is built in the corner of a right-angled triangle, 
formed by the junction of the Assunpink creek with the Delaware. 
The river road follows the course of the Delaware, here nearly east, 
until, just before reaching the Assunpink, it turns sharp to the north- 
east, and runs through the lower part of the town, nearly parallel to 
the Assunpink. The road by which Washington came, enters 
Trenton at the upper end of the city, and passing nearly due south, 
intersects the route followed by Sullivan, about the centre of the 
town. In consequence, as soon as Sullivan reached his position, the 
Hessians were partially surrounded ; and would have been alto- 
gether so, if General Ewing could have crossed below Trenton, as 
arranged, and cut off escape by the bridge over the Assunpink. In 
the panic of the first alarm, a body of Hessians, five hundred strong, 
besides a company of light-horse, without waiting to assist their 
companions, fled across this bridge towards Bordentown, and made 



192 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

good their escape. The remainder, under Rahl, at the upper end 
of the town, finding, by the firing to the south, that the enemy had 
cut off retreat in that direction, broke from the main-street, where 
they had first been drawn up, and taking a diagonal course across 
the fields, to the east, sought to escape by the road to Princeton. 
To prevent this, Washington threw a detachment of Virginia troops 
between them and the highway. Thus hemmed in, but one course 
remained for them ; which was to fly towards the Assunpink, and 
endeavor, if possible, to fordit. Thither, accordingly, one portion of 
them hurried, no longer keeping their ranks however, but huddled 
wildly together, jostling and treading on each other in their mortal 
panic. 

But fast as they fled, the Americans pursued as fast. Whenever 
the Hessians turned in their fright, they saw the enemy, nigher 
than before ; while still that fatal rattle of fire-arms was main- 
tained, accompanied by exulting huzzas. At every step, some new 
victim dropped from the ranks of the fugitives, and was silent for- 
ever. In vain the brave Rahl tried to rally his troops. He was 
shot while thus engaged, and fell mortally wounded. Then the 
panic became greater than ever. Through the orchard on their left; 
by the grave-yard of the Presbyterian Church ; across the common 
at the end of the street, by which Sullivan was advancing, the Hes- 
sians hurried frantically on, the officers borne resistlessly with them, 
a wild, confused, terror-struck torrent. At last they reached the 
Assunpink. Here some threw themselves in, and were frozen to 
death, in attempting to swim across. But the larger portion, flying to 
a rock which juts out into the stream, and discovering further escape 
impossible, grounded their arms, loudly supplicating quarter. 

Another portion had cast themselves into a stone house in their 
way, carrying with them a piece of artillery, which they posted in 
the hall. Captain Washington immediately unlimbered one of his 
field pieces, and, for a few minutes, the ground shook with the ex- 
plosions of the hostile cannon. But the fire growing every minute 
more sure and deadly, and his men beginning to waver, he suddenly 
resolved on one of those bold strokes of personal daring, which carry 
back the imagination to the days of Richard at Ascalon. Dashing 
from the ranks, he sprang into the house, seized the officer in com- 
mand of the gun and ordered him to surrender. The Hessians drew 
back, astonished and uncertain. That single moment of doubt de- 
cided their fate. Washington's men, rushing after him, had filled 
the hall, before the enemy could recover from their amazement; and 
the whole party accordingly was made prisoners. Washington was 



GEORGE WASniXGTON. 193 

the only one of the assailants wounded, receiving a ball in his hand 
as he entered the house. 

The battle was now over. When those who had been captured 
by Sullivan were added to those taken prisoners by Washington, the 
whole number was found to be nine hundred and nine, of whom 
twenty-three were officers. The Hessians lost seven officers and 
nearly thirty men killed : only two officers of the Americans, and a 
few privates were wounded. About a thousand stand of arms fell 
into the hands of the victors. As Washington rode over the field, 
after the conflict was at an end, he found Colonel Rahl, in the snow, 
weltering in his blood. He instantly ordered that his own physician 
should attend the unfortunate man ; but medical assistance was in 
vain: Rahl had received a mortal wound, and being carried back to 
his head-quarters, died. It was, perhaps, better that he should thus 
close his life, than survive to face the obloquy of having, by his 
carelessness or misfortune, ruined the royal cause. 

The Americans, when they found the victory their own, could 
not conceal the exhilaration of their spirits. It was the first gleam 
of success after an unbroken series of misfortunes. A load seemed 
removed from every heart. The men forgot their suflerings, and 
congratulated each other as on a festival ; while the officers, looking 
forward into the future, foresaw the day when they should be fol- 
lowed by acclamations as they revisited this scene, and the murmur 
go round, " he, too, fought at Trenton." Washington alone, pre- 
served his equanimity. What the secret emotions of that mighty 
heart must have been, we can imagine, but not adequately describe. 
He busied himself, apart, in making preparations to secure his vic- 
tory ; and so successfully, that, before night, the prisoners were all 
transported to the western shore of the Delaware. His next measure 
was to march them to Philadelphia, where they were paraded 
through the streets, while the inhabitants, as they looked on, gazed 
in speechless amazement, like spectators at some exhibition of magic 
in Arabian story. The fact that the first rumor of the victory was 
received with incredulity, and the capture of the Hessians disbe- 
lieved up to the very moment of their appearance in the city, proves, 
more than volumes of reasoning, the general depression of the pub- 
lic mind, and the conviction of the invincibility of the royal troops. 
The moral consequences of the battle of Trenton were infinitely 
greater than its mere physical results. It changed, at once, the 
doubting into friends ; it made the hostile neutral ; and it convinced 
the patriot that God was on his side, and that his country would yet 
be free ! ^ 

25 



194 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

If the original plan of the battle had been carried into effect, it is 
probable not a British soldier, south of Princeton, would have made 
his escape. Could Ewing have effected his passage below Trenton, 
he would have intercepted the detachment that fled over the Assun- 
pink bridge : while, if Cadwalader had been able to cross from 
Bristol, not only Burlington, but Bordentown, Mount Holly and 
Black Horse, must have fallen into his hands. Washington, how- 
ever, was determined not to lose the advantage he had gained. The 
enemy, yet staggering under his blow, had abandoned all his posts 
and fallen back on Princeton : it was the design of the American 
commander, if possible, to throw him back still further, and clear 
west Jersey of his presence. Accordingly, on the 30th of De- 
cember, his troops having been recruited, Washington crossed the 
Delaware again and took post at Trenton. General Cadwalader, 
with fifteen hundred Pennsylvania militia, and shortly after, Gene- 
ral Mifflin, with as many more, succeeded also in passing the river, 
and formed a junction with Washington. Meantime Cornwallis, 
who had proceeded to New York to embark for Europe, considered 
affairs in too critical a state to leave ; and suspending his departure, 
hastened back to Princeton, collecting, on his way, all the regiments 
he could muster, and concentrating them on that point. Having 
prepared a force sufficient, as he thought, to annihilate Washington, 
he left Princeton on the 2nd of January, 1777, and advanced on 
Trenton. Washington, learning his approach by scouts, sent forward 
detachments to skirmish and impede his way, which was done with 
such success, that the royal General could not reach Trenton until 
four o'clock in the afternoon. By this time the American leader had 
retired to the eastern shore of the Assunpink, where there is a high 
bank ; and forming his men there, with the artillery to defend the 
bridge, he awaited the onset. 

A furious conflict ensued. The British assailed the Americans at 
two different points, one attack being directed against the bridge, and 
the other against a ford lower down. At the latter place, the enemy 
was repulsed promptly, and with such slaughter, that the stream 
was choked up with his dead. But the main assault was at the former 
position. The ground on the eastern shore of the river, here declines 
from all sides towards the bridge, so that the Americans were able to 
range themselves on the slopes, rank above rank, like spectators in 
an amphitheatre. An old mill, frowning over the bank at this 
spot, afforded a rude fortress to command the passage. A 
heavy battery of artillery was posted in the road, just beyond, its 
gaping mouths pointed so as to sweep the bridge. Thus prepared, 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 195 

the Americans awaited the assault. All eyes, in their crowded 
ranks, were meanwhile silently directed across that narrow cause- 
way, and up the long street, which, stretching in a straight line on 
the other side, "^vas now darkened with the threatening masses of 
the foe. Directly a column was seen to unwind itself from the main 
body, and with fifers playing gaily, to advance steadily towards the 
passage. The Americans gazed in silent suspense, as the head of 
the long extended column approached them, its other extremity 
continuing to evolve itself from the apparently inexhaustible mass 
behind. They were still confounded at the endless numbers they 
displayed, when the front of the enemy, arriving within sixty yards 
of the bridge, raised a shout, and rushed forward. Instantly the 
defenders opened their batteries, all uniting in a concentric fire on 
the bridge. For a few seconds, the roar of artillery and musketry 
was terrific. Incessant discharges of grape swept the narrow pas- 
sage, and ploughed up the planks of the foot-path ; while the 
crashing of bullets on the solid masses of the foe, smote the ear like 
the shattering of glass in a hail-storm. Unappalled, however, by 
the awful carnage, the British pressed steadily forward ; they 
reached the bridge, they rushed upon it, they even got half way 
across. The appalled Americans saw, through the smoke, the 
bayonets of their foes glistening on the hither side of the causeway. 
At the sight they redoubled their exertions. The earth now quaked 
under the rapid discharges of the artillery, and the old mill rocked, 
enveloped in sheets of fire. Drifts of fiery spray hissed over the 
bridge, gust following gust without the intermission of a second, 
until the head of the British colunm melted away in the tempest. 
Yet still the rear ranks pressed on. And still the front files, as they 
came within that magic circle, disappeared, like snow-flakes driven 
into the mouth of a furnace. Soon a pile of almost impassible dead 
blocked up the passage. Yet those behind continued to urge on 
those before, till, notwithstanding the immense weight of the mass 
thus pressing from the rear, the head of the column moved slower 
and slower, retarded by the bodies of the slain, and by the rushing 
of that terrible blast. In vain they placed shoulder to shoulder, 
and stooping their heads, strove to bear down the tempest with their 
solid masses : tearing and splitting wherever it came, it riddled their 
ranks through and through, and prostrated them before it. At last 
human courage could endure it no longer. With a wild cry of 
horror the British broke and fled. 

Not a shout had been heard in the American ranks while the 
struggle continued ; but now a simultaneous cheer arose, and rolling 



196 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION, 

down the line, which extended for a mile, was echoed back from 
the extreme left, far out of sight. A few minutes of breathless sus- 
pense ensued, at the end of which, the British, having rallied, were 
seen again advancing. They were met, a second time, by that 
withering fire ; and, a second time, triumphantly repelled. Again 
that shout rose from the Americans defending the bridge, and was 
replied to by their companions far along that winding stream. A third 
time the enemy attempted to carry the passage ; a third time they 
were hurled triumphantly back : a third time that rejoicing huzza 
traversed the line, till the shores of the distant Delaware trembled in 
the concussion. The English returned no more to the charge after 
this ; but, drawing otT their shattered ranks, reserved their further 
trials for the morrow. Night soon fell upon the bloody scene, and con- 
cealed the heaps of dead and wounded that choked up the bridge. 
The houses on the opposite bank grew darker and more obscure : 
the trees, standing leafless and frozen in the twilight, changed to 
fantastic shapes, and finally disappeared ; and the deep gloom of 
a winter evening threw its mantle of silence around the landscape. 
Lights, however, flashed up and down in Trenton, and the low hum 
of the British army rose on the air. On the American side there was, 
for a while, equal silence and darkness. But, as the twilight deepened, 
the enemy heard the sound of spades as if busy at entrenching in the 
rebel camp, while watch-fire after watch-fire started into sight, until 
the whole line, like some vast electric chain, brightened with the 
conflagration. Cornwallis gazed with secret exultation at this spec- 
tacle, which assured him that the Americans would await him on 
the morrow ; and, confident in his overwhelming forces, for large 
re-inforcements from Brunswick were expected before morning, he 
retired to his tent to dream of victory, and of new honors bestowed 
by the hand of a grateful sovereign. 

But it was not Washington's intention to allow his enemy this 
triumph. Satisfied that he could not hold his present position 
against the overwhelming masses that, on the morrow, would be 
precipitated against it, he resolved to abandon his ground. A hasty 
council of oflicers was called, at the quarters of St. Clair. No 
authentic memorial is preserved of the deliberations of this meeting ; 
but tradition assigns to Washington the suggestion of the bold plan 
which he ultimately adopted, and in which, it is understood, only 
Greene and Knox at first concurred. This plan was to move boldly 
on the enemy's rear, by way of Princeton, and cut off his communi- 
cations. Accordingly, about midnight, the army was put in 
motion, sentinels bemg left to keep guard through the night, and a 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 197 

party sent to the front to work noisily at digging trenches. The day 
had been comparatively mild, so that the roads had thawed ; and it 
was feared they would now be impassible ; but the wind suddenly 
shifting to the north, the cold soon became intense, and the highway, 
though rough, was frozen hard. Following the east bank of the 
Assunpink, Washington silently drew off towards Princeton, resolv- 
ing to carry the war into the heart of the enemy's position. The 




HEAD-QfAETERS AT JIORBISTOWN. 



remainder of this eventful campaign may be told in few words. At 
Princeton he met a detachment of the royal army, hastening to join 
Cornwallis, and a severe action ensued, which terminated victoriously 
for the Americans. Cornwallis, who had retired to dream of victory, 
was waked at day-break by the firing. He instantly perceived 
that he had been duped, and trembling for his communications, hur- 
ried back to Princeton in mortification and alarm, hoping yet to 
overtake Washington before he could wholly escape ; but the 
American General skilfully eluding the pursuit, drew off towards 
Pluckemain, where, safe from surprise, he halted to refresh his troops, 
worn down by thirty-six hours of incessant action. Immediately 
afterwards, he took up his winter-quarters in the hilly region around 
Morristown. Cornwallis, completely foiled, fell back towards the 
Raritan, and abandoned all hopes of entrapping his wary antagonist. 
The result of this splendid series of operations was, that, in a short 
time, not a single regiment of the enemy remained in the Jerseys, 

■a* 



198 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

except at Brunswick and Amboy, between which places and Nev/ 
York was an open communication by water. Thus, when supposed 
to be annihilated, Washington, like the fabled genii, had suddenly 
risen up, saved Philadelphia, driven the British from the Delaware, 
and recovered the whole province of New Jersey. All this, too, he 
did in ten days. Napoleon's earlier campaigns form the only parallel 
to it in modern history. As Botta, the eloquent Italian historian of 
the war remarks : " Achievements so astonishing gained for the 
American commander a very great reputation, and were regarded 
with wonder by all nations, as well as by the Americans. Every 
one applauded the prudence, the firmness, and the daring of Wash- 
ington. All declared him the saviour of his country : all proclaimed 
him equal to the most renowned commanders of antiquity." 

We now dismiss the military character of Washington. We have 
thrown it thus prominently into the fore-ground, and examined it in 
such detail, in consequence of the almost universal misapprehension 
which exists with regard to it. We have wished to shew that he 
was a great General as well as a pure patriot : that his intellectual 
qualities and his moral ones were equally harmonious and high. 
Plis consummate judgment ; his iron will ; his daring ; his courage ; 
his discernment of character ; and his skill in tactics and strategy, 
are all ingredients which go to make up the perfect whole of his 
military character. These we have considered. His love of coun- 
try, his sense of duty, and his lofty and incorruptible principles are 
the elements which constitute his moral character. The combination 
of the first produced the great General : the union of these last 
resulted in the good man. The one gave him the means, the other 
aftbrded the motive to play the part he did in achieving our inde- 
pendence. The military leader we have already described : it only 
remains for us to paint the patriot and hero. 

As A PATRIOT Washington was pure and unselfish. On the one 
hand, he was not actuated by any ambitious motives of personal 
distinction, nor on the other, restrained by any fear of obloquy or 
danger. It is unquestionable that there were many men taking part 
in the revolutionary struggle, who were guided chiefly by a thirst 
to lead — an insane longing after notoriety or power. Such a man 
was Lee. There were others, who, while good patriots in the main, 
yet suffered unworthy motives of personal advancement to regulate 
their conduct : men who, when all went prosperously, were valuable 
auxiliaries ; but when disasters thickened, and the scaftbld loomed 
up threateningly close at hand, began to tremble, if not for them- 
selves, at least for their families. Washington had none of this 



GEORGE \Vx\SHINGTON. 199 

timorous, half-repenting feeling. He loved his country with no 
common sentiment, but with that depth and earnestness which charac- 
terized him in all things. He had little to gain by the war, and 
everything to lose. His estate was one of the best in the provinces ; 
his reputation was sufficient for his ambition ; with his love of 
domestic quiet, the command of the army, involving such perplex- 
ities and perils, was no temptation. But he believed his country 
had been wronged, and he had the spirit to resent it. He foresaw 
the long and bitter war. " Give me leave to add, as my opinion," 
he wrote in 1774, "that more blood will be spilled on this occasion, 
if the ministry are determined to push matters to extremity, than 
history has ever yet furnished in the annals of America." Yet, 
with this knowledge before him, he did not hesitate. It is a mis- 
take, as some have supposed, that Washington was for conciliation. 
In the first Congress he asserted the necessity of war. He voted 
afterwards, in the Virginia Convention, in favor of Patrick Henry's 
celebrated resolutions, to enrol, arm and discipline the militia ; and 
we can fancy we see his fine form dilating to its loftiest height, as 
he listened breathlessly to the fervid oratory of the speaker. " We 
must fight, I repeat it, sir, we must fight," said Henry. " An 
appeal to arms, and to the God of hosts, is all that is left us." 

It was his high sense of duty, no meaner motive, which led 
Washington to accept the command of the army. He would have 
fought in an humbler capacity if necessary. In 1775, he writes, in 
reference to an independent company, " I shall very cheerfully 
accept the honor of commanding it, if occasion require it to be drawn 
out, as it is my full intention to devote my life and fortune in the 
cause we are engaged in, if needful." When he was chosen gene- 
ralissimo, if he hesitated at all, it was from a consciousness of the 
magnitude and responsibility of the office. He wrote home to his 
wife, ^^ so far from seeking this appointment, I have used every 
endeavor in my power to avoid it." A few months later, he writes 
to a friend, " my situation is so irksome to me, at times, that, if I 
did not consult the public good more than my sense of tranquillity, 
I should long ere this have put everything at the hazard of a die." 
When, on the evacuation of Boston, the Massachusetts Legislature 
testified their respect and attachment by an address, he replied that 
he had only done his duty, " wishing for no other reward than that 
arising from a conscientious discharge of his important trust." 
Throughout the whole war, his conduct exhibited him in the same 
light. It was not merely in words that he sacrificed on the altar of 
duty : '< whatever his hand found to do, that he did with all his 
might." 



200 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

His equal mind was especially conspicuous. He seemed to tower 
above the clouds and storms of the present, and to live only in the 
loftier and serener atmosphere of the future. The misrepresentations 
of his character and motives, which at one time obtained even the 
ear of Congress, did not destroy his equanimity, or seduce him into 
recrimination. Other men, with but half his wrongs, revenged 
themselves by deserting or betraying their country. But Washing- 
ton, though daily slights were put upon him, and even the with- 
drawal of his rank secretly plotted, never allowed himself to swerve 
a hair's breadth from the line of duty. Caressed or thwarted, he 
did his best for his country. Like Luther, he could have said, " this 
is none of my seeking — the work is upon me, and I must go for- 
ward — God help me ! " 

His conscience was ever his guide. He allowed no sinister 
motives to actuate him. Never, to attain his ends, would he stoop to 
unworthy means. So high was his sense of virtue, that he could not 
forgive subterfuge or dishonesty ; but the man whom he detected in 
such arts, at once, and forever lost his confidence. By some, this 
trait in his character has been called sternness. It was not, it was 
justice. Follies and indiscretions, Washington could forgive ; but 
not deliberate and continued acts of moral turpitude. Pity for the 
criminal has, of late years, supplanted, to a great extent, indignation 
at the crime ; and we see the consequences in the uncertainty of pun- 
ishment, and in the increasing disorganization of society. To coun- 
tenance guilt, through a false clemency, is treason to honest men. 
Washington carried his hatred against subterfuge and dishonesty to 
such an extent, as to abjure, in the ordinary concerns of life, even 
the shadow of artifice or dissimulation. No man was more sincere. 
Hence he reprobated the slightest departure from truth. A lie 
roused all his indignation : deceit shut his soul against intimacy. 
He was candid and faithful to his friends ; to his enemies cold, but 
impartial. Never, perhaps, was there an individual more deserving 
the title of " the just man." 

One of his most prominent traits was self-control. This was the 
more remarkable, because naturally he possessed impetuous passions. 
Some men, gifted with easy dispositions, find it no hard task to be 
impartial, because neither right nor wrong can make any lasting 
impression on them : their charity, in fact, is indifference ; their 
amiability, coldness of heart ; and the whole merit of their equanim- 
ity, consists in incapacity. Yet few individuals have made a figure 
in the world, unless originally possessed of high passions. Men of 
the greatest force of character are those whose temper, naturally 



GEOllGK WASHINGTON. 201 

vehement, has been disciplined and brought under control. Wash- 
ington was of this description. Long and severe training had made 
him completely the master of himself. He reahzed the words of 
the wise man: — "He that is slow to anger, is better than the 
mighty ; and he that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city." 
Washington seemed, indeed, to exercise a control over himself to a 
degree denied to other men. In situations the most trying to the 
temper, he retained an equanimity almost miraculous. Once or 
twice only, during the eight } ears of the war, did he give way to his 
passions in moments of excitement ; but on these occasions his fury 
was terrible. At the battle of Germantown, and at Kipp's Bay, 
both times under the same circumstances of mortification at the 
unexpected flight of his soldiers, he burst forth into a scornful anger, 
withering to its guilty objects, attended with a recklessness as to his 
own life, which compelled his friends to force him from the field. 

These were the exceptions, however. It is rare to find him, even 
in private letters to his friends, giving way to irritation at the con- 
stant annoyances he had to contend with, chiefly arising from the 
contentions of his officers, or the folly, neglect, and suspicions of Con- 
gress. We have already alluded to his conduct during the Conway 
cabal, when a powerful party, both military and civil, was plotting 
his downfall. Ordinary men, under such circumstances, would have 
thrown up their commission in disgust or spleen : a Cromwell, or a 
Napoleon would have marched on Congress, and cut the Gordian 
knot with his sword. But Washington's sense of duty, his lofty and he- 
roic patriotism, made him abhor the remedies, as it exalted him above 
the passions of common humanity. He wrote a letter, on this occa- 
sion, designed for Congress in which he says : — " My chief concern 
arises from an apprehension of the dangerous consequences, which 
intestine dissentions may produce to the common cause. As I have 
no other view than to promote the public good, and am unambitious 
of honors not founded in the approbation of my country, I would 
not desire, in the least degree, to suppress a free spirit of inquiry 
into any part of my conduct, that even faction itself may deem 
reprehensible." After inviting an examination, he says : — " My 
enemies take an ungenerous advantage of me. They know the 
delicacy of my situation, and that motives of policy deprive me of 
the defence I might otherwise make against their insidious attacks. 
They know I cannot combat their insinuations, however injurious, 
without disclosing secrets, which it is of the utmost moment to con- 
ceal. But why should I expect to be exempt from censure, the 
26 



20ii 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 




Washington's iiEAD-mUARTEia at newbueg. 



unfailing lot of an elevated situation ?" It is some consolation to 
know that Conway, the busy agent in this intrigue, afterwards, by 
his own accord, recanted, and that the prominent actors in it nearly 
all fell into signal disgrace, in consequence of their own follies, 
before the close of the war. 

There is no single fact more illustrative of Washington's character, 
than his answer to the proposition made to him, in the name of some 
of his officers, to assume the title of king. It was in the year 1782, and 
while he was still at the head of his command. The incapacity of Con- 
gress had long been apparent : the army, to a man, was dissatisfied 
with the civil authorities of the country ; and even a portion of the 
citizens, fond of pomp and titles, and thinking a monarchy safer than 
a republic, secretly favored the measure. Nor Avould it have been 
so difficult, as many suppose, for Washington, had he been ambitious, 
to have obtained the crown. The people were exhausted with war. 
There was no force, in any part of the states, competent for resist- 
ance. A bounty to the troops ; the promise of immunity to the tories ; 



GEOKGE WASHINGTON. 203 

rank proffered to such leading men as were patriots from policy : — 
these would have been bribes which, if adroitly administered, would 
have betrayed America, unless her citizens were less selfish than 
others, or than they had proved themselves to be. It was well for 
the freedom of this land, that a AVashington, not a Cromwell or a 
Napoleon, was at the head of the army. He refused the boon at 
once, and refused it with indignation and horror. The act is the 
more noble because it stands alone in history. His indignant reply, 
dated Newburg, 22nd May, 1782, is as follows: 

" Sir : — With a mixture of great surprise and astonishment, I have 
read with attention the sentiments you have submitted for my peru- 
sal. Be assured. Sir, no occurrence in the course of the war has 
given me more painful sensations, than your information of there 
being such ideas existing in the army, as you have expressed, and I 
must view with abhorrence and reprehend with severity. For the 
present, the communication of them will rest in my own bosom, 
unless some further agitation of them shall make a disclosure neces- 
sary. 

" I am much at a loss to conceive what part of my conduct could 
have given encouragement to an address, which to me seems big 
with the greatest mischiefs that can befall my country. If I am not 
deceived, in the knowledge of myself, you could not have found a 
person to whom your schemes are more disagreeable. At the same 
time, in justice to my own feelings, I must add, that no man pos- 
sesses a more sincere wish to ^ee ample justice done to the army 
than I do : and, as far as my powers and influence, in a constitutional 
way, extend, they shall be employed to the utmost of my abilities to 
effect it, should there be any occasion. Let me conjure you, then, 
if you have any regard for your country, concern for yourself or 
posterity, or respect for me, to banish these thoughts from your 
mind, and never communicate, as from yourself or any one else, a 
sentiment of a like nature. 

" I am. Sir, &c., 

George Washington." 

After the receipt of this letter nothing more was said in relation 
to the proposition. The effect of the refusal was more potent than 
it seemed at first. There were many who had secretly looked to a 
monarchy as the form of government under which they could most 
easily aggrandize themselves; but not one of these, after the rebuff from 



204 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. 

the Commander-in-chief, dared to mention their designs, since, with- 
oiU him, all their plots must fail. It is impossible to doubt that there 
would have been, at least, a serious struggle, perhaps a protract- 
ed civil war, in case Washington had acceded to the proposition. 
It must not be supposed, because the monarchists kept silence 
from that hour, that their numbers were few or that their de- 
signs were visionary. Who can tell the magnitude of the danger 
we escaped ? 

Such was Washington. His unselfish love of country, his stern 
sense of duty, and his high and incorruptible principles rendered him, 
as a patriot, even more superior than his great military talents did, 
as a General. The union of both made him the saviour of his coun- 
try. It is to his consummate judgment and his stern morality that 
we owe our success in the war and the subsequent establishment of 
our liberties. Had he suffered himself to be more brilliant ; had he 
given way to the natural impetuosity of his character ; had a false 
love of fame precipitated him into hasty enterprises, the army might 
have been annihilated and all effectual resistance put at an end, in 
the first years of the war. But, contrary to the bent of his genius, 
he adopted a line of cautious policy, until an army had been organ- 
ized fit to cope with the veterans of England. Few men would have 
had the courage to adhere to a resolution like this, at the sacrifice, 
for years, of his personal fame. Both Congress and the people, 
dazzled by the capture of Burgoyne, drew, at one time, invidious 
comparisons between Washington and Gates, and hesitated not to 
charge the former with inactivity ,^f not with incompetency : but, 
firm in consciousness of right, the American commander never 
wavered, and thus was the salvation of the war. To a certain ex- 
tent, even yet, he suffers for his wisdom ; and is depreciated as a 
military commander in exact proportion as his virtue is extolled. 
Let tardy justice be done him ! Washington was not less superior 
as a General than exalted as a patriot. His letters, written during 
the war, when compared with those of others shew a wonderful 
contrast, in the absence of that envy and party strife, the presence 
of which, more or less, characterizes the correspondence of his con- 
temporaries. The singular breadth and comprehensiveness of his 
views will startle the reader continually; and the conclusion be irre- 
sistibly drawn, that no other man could have carried the country 
through the war. One fact has never been presented in a sufficiently 
forcible light: we mean, that Congress, whenever refusing the advice 
of Washington, always went wrong, and had eventually to retrace 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 205 

its Steps. In a word, the whole burden of the war lay on his shoul- 
ders. Nobly and triumphantly did he bear it through ! 

We come last to consider Washington as the hero. It has been 
well said that the great intellect dies with its possessor, but that the 
great heart survives forever, beckoning kindred natures to deeds of 
heroic trust and self-sacrifice. The names of Alexander, Caesar, and 
of all earth's conquerors, do but dazzle the imagination ; but Leonidas, 
and Tell, and Bruce, are talismanic words that will kindle enthu- 
siasm forever. We can well believe that the thought of these im- 
mortal patriots was in many a brave heart that went up to Bunker 
Hill. The heroes and martyrs of all ages ; how the blood leaps at 
mention of their names ! Wallace and Kosciuszko ; Latimer and 
Xavier ; those who perished for liberty, and those who died for con- 
science — will not their services be consecrated, in all true bosoms, 
until earth shall be no more ? Some have sunk on the battle-field ; 
some have watered the scaffold with their blood ; some have perish- 
ed in the agonies of fire ; some have drawn their last breath on 
distant and savage coasts : these have been of one race and language, 
those of another : this endured all things for one faith, that for a dif- 
ferent : — but all, whatever their nation, or sect, or lineage, were the 
warriors of humanity, and suffered that mankind might be free. The 
good of all eras form but one great brotherhood. Our hearts yearn 
towards the martyrs and heroes of the past as towards dear kinsmen, 
long known and beloved. Thank God, for having thus linked dis- 
tant ages together by the ties of one common sympathy. The great 
souls scattered along the highway of history, are connected one to 
the other by an electric chain, and thus the influence of heroic 
deeds thrills from century to century, down the long avenue of 
Time ! 

Washington, above all others, is the hero of America ! In the long 
catalogue of the great and good no other name, perhaps, will ever 
rival his. If this confederacy should achieve but half the destinies 
apparently opening before it, he will descend to future ages as the 
founder of the mightiest republic the world has seen. What a des- 
tiny is that of our country ! With great capacity for social and 
material development; with institutions more free than those of any 
preceding nation ; with a race of people surpassed by no other of 
the Caucasian tribes ; and with a land whose boundless vallies and 
gigantic rivers reflect a portion of their own immensity upon the 
national mind, the career of the United States promises, like the 
eagle it has chosen for an emblem, to be onward and upward, until 

s 



206 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



the imagination, bewildered, shrinks from following its flight ! It is 
as the hero and founder of this republic that Washington will be 
reverenced by future times. 



"One of the few, the immortal names, 
That were not born to die." 





JOSEPH WARREN. 



HERE are three classes 
of men, who, in revo- 
lutions, rise to the sur- 
face of aifairs. The 
first is composed of 
the ordinary military 
Generals. These are 
usually persons of great 
physical courage, more 
or less impetuous hi 
their characters, capa- 
ble of bold and sudden 
enterprises, yet without the far-reaching views that perceive and 
prepare to avert danger long before the crisis. Such men, even in 
the army, fill secondary places, requiring to be directed by more 
comprehensive intellects. Murat is a case in point. Wayne, Put- 
nam, Morgan, and others of our revolutionary heroes, answer to this 
description. 

There is a second class, the members of which possess even greater 
merit, though, as their career is less dazzling, they rank below mill 

207 




208 THE HEROES OF THE UEVOLUTIOX. 

tary leaders in popular estimation. We allude to the men of thought, 
the distinguished civilians of their day, whose prescient knowledge 
sees the tempest in the cloud no bigger than a man's hand. The 
orators, pamphleteers, and legislators, who rouse the people to a 
sense of their rights, and who hazard in so doing all the penalties 
of treason, have not less courage, though of a different kind perhaps, 
than the soldier who charges to the cannon's mouth. To control 
with a firm hand the ship of state, when she rocks on the edge of 
the revolutionary whirlpool, requires great nerve, as well as intellec- 
tual ability Who will venture to place Adams, Jay and Jefferson 
in a lower scale than Clinton, Marion, or Stark ? The former faced 
death in his most terrible form, the axe, the gibbet, the grinning 
crowd: the others defied him on the field of battle, with the enthu- 
siasm of the strife to cheer them on. These had in prospect an 
ignominious execution in case of failure : those, the immortal glory 
of the hero dying on the battle-field. 

There is still a third class. This is composed of the men who in 
revolutionary times rise to the supreme direction of aftairs, both civil 
and military. Such individuals combine the qualities which are most 
prominent in both the other classes, possessing the comprehensive 
and prescient intellect of the one united to the impetuosity and light- 
ning-like decision of the other. They are prudent as well as daring ; 
wise, but also impetuous. They govern the popular mind, yet at the 
same time lead armies. They are pre-eminent in all things — now 
counselling in the Senate, now thundering in the front of war. Of 
this class were Cromwell, Napoleon and Washington. 

Warren, the subject of our present notice, belonged properly to 
the second of these classes, though he possessed many characteristics 
which alhed him also to the first. He was born at Roxbury, Mas- 
sachusetts, in 1741. His father was chiefly employed in the culti- 
vation of land, and particularly in raising fruit; and came to his 
death, when his son was still a child, by falling from an apple tree. 
The subject of our memoir entered Harvard University at fourteen 
years of age. Here he became remarked as a young man of supe- 
rior abilities, gentle mamiers, and a frank, independent and fearless 
character. Even at this early age he was celebrated for his daring 
courage. An anecdote, illustrative of this, yet survives. A college 
frolic was in contemplation, of which it was known Warren did not 
approve, and fearing the eftect of his example and eloquence, the 
leaders in the disturbance resolved to exclude him from their delibe- 
rations. But Warren was not to be frustrated. The assembly was 
lield in a room in an upper story, and the door locked ; yet Warren, 



JOSEPH WARREN. 209 

ascending to the roof, clambered down the spout, and sprang in at 
the window. The instant he was safe on the sill, the spout, which 
was old and decayed, fell, with a crash, to the ground. " It has 
served my purpose," quietly said Warren, and immediately pro- 
ceeded to the subject in debate. Such cool self-possession foresha- 
dowed future greatness. Already indeed had he begun to exhibit 
that rare union of valor and discretion which distinguished him in 
after life, and which, had he lived, might have elevated him to a 
position second only to that of Washington. 

In 1764, Warren established himself in Boston as a physician. His 
engaging manners and his amiable character, not less than his talents 
and his acquirements, opened before him an easy path to eminence 
and weahh. But troublous times were approaching; the difficulties 
between the colonies and mother country had begun ; and Warren, 
with all the enthusiasm of his character, entered at once into the 
exciting struggle. His boldness terrified more timid minds. While 
many hesitated between old attachments and new acts of oppression, 
he declared that all kinds of taxation without representation, were 
tyrannical, and as such ought to be resisted. He publicly asserted 
his opinion that America was able to withstand any force that could 
be sent against her. Though one of the youngest, he was soon one 
of the most influential leaders on the popular side. From 1768, he 
was a member of the secret council in Boston, which advised most 
of the earlier measures of resistance. He twice acted as the public 
orator to deliver the anniversary address commemorative of the 
massacre in King street. The first address was made in 1772 : the 
last took place three years later. On this occasion, the mutual ex- 
asperation between the troops and citizens was such as to render the 
post of the orator of the day a perilous one ; and Warren, finding 
others shrank from the duty, boldly volunteered to perform it. In 
executing his task, however, he acted with as much discretion as 
boldness. Says Everett, who narrates this circumstance, " When 
the day arrived, the aisles of the church, the pulpit stairs, the pulpit 
itself, was occupied by the officers and soldiers of the garrison, who 
were doubtless stationed there to overawe the orator, and, perhaps, 
prevent him, by force, from proceeding. Warren, to avoid interrup- 
tian and confusion, entered from the rear, by the pulpit window ; 
and, unmoved by the hostile military array that surrounded him and 
pressed upon his person, delivered the bold, stirring address which 
we have in print. While the oration was in progress, an officer, who 
was seated on the pulpit stairs, held up one of his hands, in view of 
the orator, with several pistol bullets on the open palm. Warren 
27 s* 



210 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

observed the action, and, without discontinuing his discourse, drop- 
ped a white handkerchief on the otiicer's hand. How happy would 
it have been," continues the biographer," if this gentle and graceful 
admonition could have arrested the march of violence." 

This little incident furnishes the key to Warren's character. Though 
in action bold to rashness, in council he was circumspect to a fault. 
Hence his influence over his fellow laborers. His judgment rarely 
erred. The wisdom of his counsel was always acknowledged, and has 
come down to our own times as a tradition of something pre-eminent. 
On the abolition of the old royal Assembly, and the substitution for 
it of a provincial Congress in 1774, the estimation in which Warren 
was held by his fellow citizens became at once apparent. He was 
elected a delegate to the Congress, and on its organization made 
President. The executive power of the state, under this new ar- 
rangement, was wielded by a committee of thirteen, chosen from 
the Congress, entitled the Committee of Public Safety. Of this War- 
ren was elected Chairman. Thus, in comparative youth, he became, 
in reality, the chief magistrate of Massachusetts. He was now, in 
fact, a sort of popular dictator, uniting in his person the whole civil 
and military power of the state. Every eye looked to him as to the 
pilot who should direct them in the approaching storm. Nor was 
he dismayed. Calm and high, he stood at the helm, watching the 
coming up of that ominous tempest ; and when the hurricane was 
about to burst, his voice was heard giving the first intimation of the 
peril. To him must be awarded the merit of setting the ball of revo- 
lution in motion. He prepared the people for the event, he originated 
the rising, he fought in the fray. Warren was the true hero of 
Lexington. 

For many months the popular and the royal parties had been 
growing more and more exasperated against each other. Men could 
see that a great crisis was approaching. Not only in New England, 
but throughout all the colonies, the symptoms of alienation and 
hatred increased daily. A continental Congress had assembled at 
Philadelphia, and though, in their public documents, the members 
still breathed peace and allegiance, their private fears pointed to a 
war as nearly inevitable. It needed only a spark to set them in 
a blaze. This was evident from the manner in which a rumor of 
the bombardment of Boston was received : the members started to 
their feet, and the cry to arms resounded through the house ; nor 
was it vnitil the report had been proved untrue, that the excitement 
could be allayed. The whole nation, at this crisis, was in a state of 
alarm and foreboding scarcely to be comprehended. The thoughts 



JOSEPH WARREN. 211 

of men everywhere were unsettled. Wild rumors awoke, no one 
knew whence, to die as strangely ; and without any definite fears, 
all felt vague presentiments. 

Few as yet, even in New England, spoke openly of war. Warren 
himself said that, on the night preceding the outrage at Lexington, 
he did not believe fifty men in the whole colony thought there would 
ever be blood shed in the quarrel. Preparations for a contest, 
nevertheless, went on. John Adams wrote home from Congress to 
train the people twice a week. The population was formed into 
companies, under regularly appointed officers, with orders to be in 
readiness to march at a moment's warning. The public stores were 
everywhere seized. But even the few who wished for war and 
regarded it as inevitable, exhorted to present moderation, hoping, as 
the end proved, to throw on the British the odium of striking the 
first blow. 

Gage, the royal commander, soon found that he was playing a 
losing game. The time for conciliation was past. His inactivity 
only allowed the colonists leisure to perfect their military arrange- 
ments. He was, in fact, being check-mated without a move. He 
determined, accordingly, to change his tactics, and arrest the prepa- 
rations of the patriots. For this purpose he planned the seizure of 
some stores, which he learned had been collected at Concord, New 
Hampshire ; but, in order to avoid a collision, he concealed his object 
even from his own army, resolving to effect his wishes by surprise, 
rather than by open force. It was not until the day before the bat- 
tle of Lexington, that Gage, calling together the officers to whom he 
intended entrusting the expedition, informed them of his purpose . 
and even after the troops had marched, their destination was con- 
cealed from the common soldiers, lest some treacherous voice should 
betray the contemplated movement to the colonists. 

A suspicion of the enterprise had got abroad, however, and the 
patriots, with Warren at their head, were actively on the watch. 
A portion of the stores was removed from Concord, and distributed 
among the neighboring towns. John Hancock and Samuel Adams, 
who had retired for safety to Lexington, were warned of the 
approaching crisis : and lest messengers shouki be prevented leaving 
the city, it was arranged with the patriots in Charlestown, that if the 
expedition set out by water, two lights should be displayed on the 
steeple of the North Church ; if it marched over the Neck, through 
Roxbury, only one. About nine o'clock on the evening of the ISth 
of April. 1775, the royal troops, about one thousand in num- 
ber, were embarked, under Colonel Small, at the bottom of the 



212 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

common. Warren, who had just returned from West Cambridge, 
where he had met the Committee of Safety, saw the embarkation 
in person ; and immediately despatching Mr. Davies overland to 
Lexington to raise the country, sent for his friend Colonel Revere, 
to induce him to proceed through Charlestown on the same errand. 
Before eleven o'clock, the Colonel, having first displayed two lights 
on the steeple of the North Church, had rowed across from the 
upper part of the city to Charlestown, from which, in the dead of 
night, he pursued his way through West Cambridge to Lexington, 
running in safety, the gauntlet of the British officers who had been 
stationed, at different points on the road, to intercept messengers 
from the town. It was well that he had not delayed, for after the 
embarkation of the troops. Gage, to prevent an alarm, had ordered 
that no person should be allowed to leave Boston. 

At Lexington, Colonel Revere met Mr. Davies, the other messen- 
ger, whom, however, he had anticipated ; Hancock and Adams 
were warned to fly ; and together the emissaries galloped on towards 
Concord, rousing the population as they went. In part, they had 
been anticipated by the signals on the North Church steeple. Lights 
were flashing in the houses as they passed ; the inhabitants in the 
villages were seen collecting : everything betokened the excitement 
and enthusiasm of a first alarm. All through that April night the 
noise of hasty preparation was heard. In consequence, before morn- 
ing, the militia along the road were mostly in arms, and rapidly 
concentrating to resist the approaching invaders. A body of these 
men had already assembled on Lexington green, when, through the 
grey of the dawn, the British troops were seen suddenly advancing. 
For a moment, the surprise was mutual : then Major Pitcairn cried 
" Disperse, you rebels, lay down your arms and disperse." The 
Americans still kept their ground, hesitating, when Major Pitcairn 
ordered the soldiers to fire. Several of the patriots fell. The rest 
then dispersed, returning a scattering volley as they fled : and the 
British, exulting in their victory, but not without uneasy forebodings, 
hurried forward to Concord. Here they found a few colonists, who 
fled before them. Without loss of time, they proceeded to destroy 
the public stores. This task being finished, they set out on their 
return, the more experienced of their leaders knowing well what 
was in store for them. 

For now the whole country was in commotion. What followed was 
rather a popular tumult than a regular battle. The news of the massa- 
cre, as the collision at Lexington was called, had spread through the 
neighboring country with the speed of hghtnnig. The church bells 



JOSEPH WARREN. 213 

clamored from hill to hill. The fife echoed its notes of shrill alarm 
in once quiet villages. The farmer left his plough in the furrow ; 
the artizan hurried from his forge ; and even the invalid forgot his 
pains, and calling for his father's musket, strove to rise from his 
couch. Messengers, on fleet horses, scoured the country, carrying 
the intelligence to the remoter towns. An aged relative of the 
writer, then in her youth, was standing at her father's door towards 
noon of that celebrated day. Suddenly a horseman, his steed 
covered with foam, crossed the crest of the village hill ahead. He 
came on, and on, and on, waving his hat, amid clouds of rolling 
dust. The villagers rushed from their doors. All at once, as he 
drew near, he raised himself in his stirrups, and shouted, " the bat- 
tle 's begun, the battle 's begun." Every one knew the meaning 
of those words. A long and continuous shout followed him as he 
dashed down the street towards the village inn ; and when he flung 
himself exhausted from his steed, a dozen men stepped forward to 
carry the news to the remoter towns. Thus the intelligence was 
passed from county to county, until the whole province shook in its 
length and breadth with the enthusiasm of the hour. 

At the summons, the country rose, like a giant rending the green 
withes that bound him. The vague feeling of loyalty, which had 
lingered, like a spell, in the bosoms of the people, was cast off", and 
forever, as they listened indignantly to the news of the massacre. 
At once, every village and farm house discharged its living contents 
to swell the tide of popular vengeance that begun to roar after the 
foe. From hill and valley ; from work-shop and closet ; from the 
poor man's cottage and the rich man's hall, the avenging hosts 
poured forth to the strife, their fifes playing that old Yankee air 
which has led Americans so often since to victory. They were clad 
in no flaunting uniforms, but came as the summons found them. 
They bore no glittering arms, but only the rusty household gun. 
Yet they burned with indomitable zeal. And when, as they reached 
the elevated grounds above the Lexington road, the sight of the 
retreating enemy burst, for the first time, upon them, their excite- 
ment became almost uncontrollable, and long and repeated cheers 
frequently rent the air. The blood kindles even now to hear old 
men, who fought there, recount that spectacle ! The enemy were 
in the valley below, no longer the proud looking soldiery of the day 
before, but a crowd of weary and travel soiled fugitives, evidently 
hurrying desperately on. Clouds of dust, rising around them, con- 
tinually hid their ranks from sight, though occasionally a sunbeam 
would penetrate the gloom, and their arms flash out like a golden 



214 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. > 

ripple. No inspiring sound of fife was heard, except at rare inter- 
vals, in those disordered ranks •' no glorious roll of drums ; no stir- 
ring blast of trumpets. The exhilaration of spirit was all on the side 
of the colonists. Dejected and crest-fallen, the British hurried on; 
exulting and triumphant, the patriots pursued. It was as if the 
whole country had risen, with horn and hound, to chase to his lair 
some long dreaded wolf, who now, sullen and cowed at last, pressed 
desperately on, glad even to escape with life. 

The assaults of the colonists were not conducted after any regular 
method : indeed, there was no leader in the field to direct and unite 
their movements. They fought each in his own manner, or in 
squads, as at Monterey. Now a bold horseman would gallop up 
within gun-shot of the fugitives, and deliberately taking aim, fire : 
then, wheeling his horse, would retire to re-load, when he would 
renew the attack. Now a few provincials would conceal themselves 
behind some hedge or out-house, on the flank of the foe, and, as the 
British passed, the whole line, in succession, would blaze on the 
enemy. To add to the tumult, the royal troops, in revenge for acts 
like these, began to fire the dwellings on their flank ; and frequently 
the homeless mother, with her babes, was seen flying, through the 
horrors of the battle, to seek shelter behind the hills. At this, the 
exasperation of the colonists deepened to fury. The church bells 
clanged louder and faster. Those, who at first, from age or debility, 
had looked on in quiet, seized whatever offensive weapon was 
nearest to hand, and hurried to the strife. Old men came running, 
their white hairs streaming in the wind : boys, catching the enthusi- 
asm of manhood, loaded the muskets they could scarcely carry. 
Some galloped along the highway ; some over the fields. Every 
lane that debouched into the main-road, yielded its quota to the bat- 
tle. As the fugitives saw all this, as they beheld the circle of their 
foes narrowing around them, their hearts began to fail, and only the 
stern words of their leaders roused them to hurry on. At times, 
indeed, stung to savage fury, they turned, gnashing, but vainly, on 
the foe. The roar of the pursuing multitude grew louder every 
instant. It was no longer a retreat, it was a flight. Major Pitcairn, 
conspicuous by his uniform, and alarmed for his life, abandoned his 
horse, and on foot, hid himself among his men. 

The British troops at last reached Lexington, where, fortunately, 
they met Lord Percy, who had hastened from Boston, with eight hun- 
dred men, and two pieces of cannon, to their relief. The united 
force of the royal troops was sufl^iciently imposing to check the pur- 
suit for a while : and accordingly a halt was ordered, in order to 



JOSEPH WARREN. 215 

refresh the fugitives, and allow them to take dinner. But the colo- 
nists continued gathering in such dark and ominous masses on the 
elevations around, that before two hours had elapsed, Lord Percy- 
thought it advisable to proceed. The moment he set his troops in 
motion, the assailants, hovering on the rear and flank, resumed their 
offensive operations. Their superior knowledge of the roads enabled 
them to annoy the flying enemy at every turn : while, wherever a 
stone wall, or other covert afforded shelter, they lay in ambush with 
their deadly rifles. It was at West Cambridge, after the junction 
between Small and Lord Percy, that Warren first joined the fight. 
He was at this place, in attendance on the Committee of Safety, but 
hearing the sound of the approaching battle, he rushed from the 
Assembly, seized a musket, and, in company with General Heath, 
dashed into the foremost fray. No one, to have seen him then, 
would ever have supposed he was so calm and sage in council. 
Raging in the very front of the fight, his fine face glowing with 
enthusiasm, he became speedily a mark for the enemy's muskets, 
and more than one ball narrowly missed him. At last a bullet, more 
accurate than usual, cut oft' the long, close curl, which, in the fashion 
of the day, he wore above his ear ; but even this could not intimidate 
him, or induce him to expose his person less rashly ; he continued 
thundering at the head of the pursuit, until the enemy reached 
Charlestown Neck, Here the chase was necessarily abandoned. 
The colonists drew oft": and the British, fatigued and famished, 
threw themselves on the bare ground, on Bunker Hill, where, pro- 
tected by the guns of a royal frigate, they slept secure. The next 
day they pursued their march into Boston. 

Events now hurried after each other in rapid succession. The 
Massachussetts Congress, the very next day, resolved that thirty 
thousand men were wanted for the defence of New England ; that, 
of this number Massachusetts would furnish thirteen thousand six 
hundred, and that the other colonies be requested to supply the 
balance. The same body drew up regulations for this army, and 
voted an issue of paper money. The people rose with alacrity in 
answer to this call. The old Generals of the French war came forth 
from their retreats, and hurried to join their younger companions in 
arms. Putnam left his plough in Connecticut, and within twenty- 
four hours was at Cambridge. Stark hastened down with his New 
Hampshire volunteers. Gridley threw up his pension, and joined 
the patriots. Before the middle of June, an army of fifteen thousand 
men had assembled around Boston, which they proceeded regularly 
to invest, establishing a line of redoubts from Cambridge to Roxbury, 



216 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

a circuit of nearly twelve miles. On the 21st of May, General Ward 
had been commissioned as Commander-in-chief of the Massachussetts 
forces. He fixed his head-quarters at Cambridge. Putnam, though 
really independent of him, tacitly consented to act as his subordinate. 
He lay, with a portion of the Connecticut troops, at Inman's farm, 
in advance of the main body, near the Charlestown road. Brigadier- 
General Thomas commanded at Roxbury. Among the other leading 
officers in camp, not already mentioned, were General Pomeroy and 
Colonel Prescott, both heroes of the old French war. 

The concentration of the provincial army around the peninsula of 
Boston, naturally suggested to General Gage the idea of occupying 
Charlestown Heights. We shall explain the benefit of this more fully, 
when we come to recur to the subject in the life of Putnam. It was 
instantly proposed, in the council of war, to anticipate General Gage ; 
and, on this proposition, an animated debate ensued. There was, 
at that time, only eleven barrels of powder in the camp, and but 
sixty-seven within the state of Massachussetts : and, as the seizure 
of Charlestown Heights would probably bring on a battle, many 
considered this stock of ammunition too small. Among these was 
Warren. Putnam and Prescott, but especially the former, advised 
the bolder, not to say less prudent plan : and their arguments backed 
by the influence of their acknowledged experience, carried the day. 
It was fortunate that, in this solitary instance, the advice of Warren 
was disregarded. Had the attempt been postponed, it could never 
have been made at all ; and we should thus have been without one 
of the most glorious events in our history. Technically speaking, 
the Americans were defeated at Bunker Hill, but the defeat was of 
such a character as to answer all the purposes of a victory. In 
justice to Warren, we must add that the repulse occurred from the 
want of powder, as he had foretold. 

On the 14th of June, three days before this remarkable battle, 
Warren received a commission as Major-General from the provin- 
cial Congress. On the 16th, he was at Watertown, presiding over 
that august body. The whole of that night, the last he was to live, 
he spent in transacting public business. At daylight, on the 17th, 
he rode to Cambridge, where he arrived, suffering under a severe 
head-ache, which compelled him to retire for repose. He was soon 
awakened, however, by information that the British were moving to 
attack Bunker Hill. He rose instantly, declared his head-ache gone, 
and hastened to the meeting of the Committee of Safety, of which 
he was Chairman. Here he expressed his determination to join per- 
sonally in the fight. He was urged not to expose himself thus. " I 



JOSEPH WARREN. 217 

know that I may fall," replied Warren, " but where is the man who 
does not think it glorious and delightful to die for his country." 
When the Committee adjourned, he called for his horse, sprang into 
the saddle, and galloped towards Charlestown. Both armies were 
breathlessly awaiting the signal for attack, when a solitary horseman 
dashed across Charlestown Neck, regardless of the fire of the shipping 
directed towards that point, and was seen advancing at full speed 
upon the American hues. As he crossed Bunker Hill, General Put- 
nam, who was there erecting a redoubt, rode forward. '' General 
Warren," he exclaimed, " can this be you ? I rejoice and regret to 
see you. Your life is too precious to be exposed in this battle ; but 
since you are here, I take your orders." " Not so," replied Warren, 
"I come only as a volunteer. Tell me where I can be useful." 
" Go then to the redoubt," said Putnam, "you will there be cov- 
ered." " I came not to be covered," answered Warren, " tell me 
where the peril is — where the action will be hottest." " To the 
redoubt then," cried Putnam, waving his hand. Warren dashed 
spurs into his horse's sides, and shot like an arrow, on his way. He 
sped down the slight acclivity of Bunker's Hill, across the inter- 
vening depression, and up Breed's Hill, where his person was recog- 
nised with long and loud huzzas as he galloped along the line. At 
the redoubt he found Colonel Prescott, before whom he checked 
his foaming steed. The Colonel hastened forward, and offered to 
take his orders. " No," said Warren, springing from the saddle, 
" give me yours : I come as a volunteer ; give me a musket. I am 
here to take a lesson of a veteran soldier in the art of war." 

The heroic character of Warren was evinced in all his actions on 
that day. He had been opposed, as we have seen, to the battle, 
from motives of prudence : but the moment the conflict became ine- 
vitable, he dismissed every consideration except that of participating 
in it with glory. The time for the exercise of discretion had passed : 
the moment for valorous action had come. He knew that much 
depended on the manner in which the leaders behaved; and he was 
resolved that no one should say he remained at home in safety, while 
others were bleeding in the fight. Throughout the whole of that day 
he bore himself among the bravest — his voice and example encou- 
raging the troops. When the retreat was ordered, as if loath to leave, 
he lingered behind. He had been marked out conspicuously by his 
conduct, and as he was slowly retiring, at the distance of only a few 
rods, an English officer snatched a musket from a soldier, and taking 
deliberate aim, shot him through the head. He fell weltering in 
blood. General Howe, at this time, was not far off, leaning on the 
arm of Colonel Small, having been lamed by a spent ball striking 
28 T 



218 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

his ankle. Seeing Warren sink to the earth, he said to Colonel 
Small, " Do you see that elegant young man who has just fallen ?" 
" Good God, sir," replied Small, " I believe it is my friend Warren." 
" Leave me, then, instantly," said Howe, " run — keep off the troops 
— save him, if possible." Small flew to the spot. When he arrived, 
a provincial was supporting Warren's head. " My dear friend," 
cried Small, kneeling anxiously down, " I hope you are not hurt." 
The dying hero faintly opened his eyes, looked up into the speaker's 
face, and smiling, as if in recognition, died. 

Thus fell Warren, the first martyr of the Revolution, at the age of 
thirty -four. His death was regarded as so important that the British 
General considered the war as virtually at an end in consequence. 
Some writers have regretted that he died prematurely for his fame ; 
as he was fitted to play a prominent part in the drama just opening. 
Yet his was a glorious death. His memory is enshrined in the hearts 
of his countrymen, and history has placed him among the noble 
company of patriots and martyrs whose renown is eternal. 

Warren left four children, two sons and two daughters : his wife 
had already preceded him to the grave. The continental Congress 
took on itself the education of his eldest son. The other children, 
were, for a time, assisted by Arnold, until Congress provided for 
them also. The sons both died soon after reaching the age of maturity. 
The daughters married ; but one of them only has left posterity. 





%^f2\ f WM 1 



ISRAEL PUTNAM. 




SRAEL Put- 
nam, a Major- 
General in the 
continental ar- 
my, was one of 
the most daring 
spirits of the Re- 
vokition. He had 
not the compre- 
hensive mind re- 
quired for a great 
strategist; but in 
leading a column 
to the storm, or 
in any emergen- 
cy requiring indomitable valor, possessed no rival. He needed some 
one to plan, but he was a Paladin to execute. His name was almost 
miraculous. Other military leaders distinguished themselves in bat- 
tle ; Putnam was the battle itself. ».. 

H 219 



220 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTIOX. 

Israel Putnam was born at Salem, Massachusetts, on the 7th day 
of January, 1718. He received but little education, and displayed 
no peculiar taste for learning. He was chiefly remarkable, as a boy, 
for boldness, independence and courage. The first time he visited 
Boston he was jeered for his rusticity by a lad twice his size. Put- 
nam attacked and soundly threshed his insulter. As he grew up he 
became distinguished for feats of personal skill and strength : and in 
leaping, running and wrestling had no superiors. In 1739, he mar- 
ried, and shortly after emigrated to Pomfret, Connecticut, where he 
engaged in farming, at first under many disadvantages, but finally 
with profit. It was about this period that he pursued and shot, in 
her cave, the she-wolf which had so long been a terror to the neigh- 
borhood : a story familiar to every school boy, and which we only 
refer to here, in order to shew the adventurous and daring spirit of 
Putnam. When the French war broke out his ardent genius found 
vent in a higher sphere. He was appointed to command a company 
raised in Connecticut in 1755, to operate in the expedition against 
Crown Point; and in 1757, was elevated to the rank of Major, his 
services having been considered so important as to deserve this 
compliment. Numerous anecdotes are told of his presence of mind, 
and romantic escapes during the several campaigns in which he took 
a part. It was at Putnam's side that the lamented Lord Howe fell, 
on the 6th of July, 1758. On one occasion Putnam was captured by 
the savages, who proceeded, in their inhuman way, to torture him 
to death. He was already stripped naked and tied to the stake ; the 
fire had been kindled ; and the Indians were dancing and yelling 
around in fiendish delight, when a French officer rushed in, scattered 
the blazing brands, and unbinding the victim, carried him in safety 
to his quarters. He was subsequently conducted to Montreal, where 
he arrived almost without clothes, his body torn by briars, his face 
gashed by the tomahawk, and his whole appearance miserable and 
squalid to the last degree. Colonel Peter Schuyler Avas then at 
INIontreal, a prisoner also. He was indignant at this treatment to- 
wards Putnam, clothed him, procured his reception as became his 
rank, and afterwards obtained his exchange. 

In 1759, Putnam, who had been raised to the rank of Lieutenant- 
Colonel, accompanied General Amherst in the latter's expedition 
against Ticonderoga and Crown Point. In this campaign he proved 
of the greatest service, by his ingenuity no less than by his courage. 
At one time he proposed to reduce the enemy's squadron on Lake 
Champlain by attacking each ship in a batteau, and driving a wedge 
between the rudder and stern, by which to render the vessel unma- 



ISRAEL PUTNAM. 



221 




EUIXS OF OLD FORT TICONDEROGA 



nageable ; but, just as the assault was about to begin, the ships sur- 
rendered. In 1762, he went to Cuba, at the head of a regiment, to 
assist in the attack on Havana. Here he was shipwrecked ; but, 
through his presence of mind the troops were saved. In 1764, having 
been raised to the ranli of a Colonel, he marched against the western 
Indians ; but the campaign gave him no opportunity to signalize 
himself, and on the treaty in the ensuing year, Putnam returned 
home, after having been engaged in military life nearly ten years. 

He carried with him into his retirement, one of the best reputations 
as an officer in the colonies. He boasted little military knowledge 
except such as was the result of experience ; but he had ingenuity, 
energy and courage, qualities which education could not give. His 
bravery was of no common kind. The stormier the battle grew, the 
more fearless he became : the deadlier the crisis, the cooler his self- 
possession. It was said of him already, that he " dared to lead 
where any dared to follow." In no other man, from his section of 
the provinces, had the soldiers equal confidence in a desperate strife. 
His towering form was like a banner to them through the cloud and 
smoke of battle. 



822 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

When the difficulties between the mother country and the colonies 
begun, Putnam was looked up to for counsel, and at once, took sides 
with the provinces. He was one of the foremost actors in the popu- 
lar demonstration which compelled the collectors of stamps, in Con- 
necticut, to relinquish their offices. Throughout the whole atl'air, 
his decision and energy were prominent. Minds like his, always 
rally the masses around them in threatening times, and each year 
added to the influence of Putnam. He frequently visited Boston, 
where he was familiarly known to the royal officers, many of whom 
had served with him during the French war. On one occasion, he 
was asked what he would do, if the dispute should end in hostilities. 
" I will stand by my country," stoutly replied Putnam. An officer 
happening to say triumphantly, that an army of five thousand vete- 
rans might march from one end of the continent to the other. " No 
doubt," replied Putnam, " if they conducted themselves properly, and 
paid for what they wanted : but, should they attempt it in a hostile 
manner, the American women would brain them with their ladles." 

Putnam was quietly ploughing in his field, nearly a hundred 
miles from the field of Lexington, when a horseman, carrying a drum, 
galloped up and announced the news of the massacre. Instantly the 
old hero was on fire. He unyoked his team, sprang on one of the 
horses, and telling his little son, who was with him, to go home and 
acquaint Mrs. Putnam whither he had gone, dashed ofi" on the road 
to Boston, where he arrived in less than twenty-four hours. On 
the 21st, two days after the battle, he attended a council of war at 
Cambridge : then, at the summons of the Legislature of Connecticut, 
he flew back to that state ; and in less than a week, having raised 
three thousand troops, and accepted the commission of Brigadier- 
General, was once more at head-quarters, having traversed the 
country, in the discharge of his several missions, with arapidity that 
resembled that of some wild meteor. At Cambridge, he was first 
in command of the Connecticut recruits. His position, when the 
besieging army had taken its ground, was in the advance at Lnnan's 
Farm, on the Charlestown road. 

It was while thus beleaguering Boston, that Putnam received the 
ofter of a Major-General's commission, besides a large pecuniary 
recompense, provided he would abandon the cause of the colonists, 
and join the British side. The bribe was indignantly spurned. 
Meantime a month had passed since the provincial army had assem- 
bled for the siege, and nothing effective had been done, though 
skirmishes were occasionally occurring between detachments on both 
sides. Putnam became impatient for action. His soul was one of 



ISRAEL PUTNAM. 223 

those tlial fretted at inactivity : he longed to strike some hlow that 
should terrify the enemy, and inspire the Americans. An opportu- 
nity was not long wanting. General Gage, it was discovered by 
spies, was about to fortify the entrance to the peninsula of Charles- 
town ; and, to prevent this, even at the risk of a battle, at once 
became Putnam's secret design. 

The peninsula of Charlestown is rather more than a mile in length, 
from east to west, and two-thirds of a mile in breadth, from north 
to south. It is washed on the north by the Mystic River, and on 
the south by the Charles, the two rivers approaching within a hun- 
dred yards of each other at the neck of the peninsula. A narrow 
channel divides it from Boston, on the east. Bunker Hill begins at 
the Neck, and rises to the height of above a hundred feet : then, 
declining towards the east, runs along the shore of the Mystic, par- 
allel to Breed's Hill. This last begins near the southern extremity 
of Bunker, and rising to the height of eighty-seven feet, extends to 
the south and east, the two summits being about one hundred and 
thirty rods apart. To the east and north of Breed's Hill the ground 
was low and marshy. Charlestown lay on the south side of the 
hill, and had already begun to extend up its slope. Morton's Point, 
where the Navy Yard now is, formed the north-eastern extremity 
of the peninsula. The peninsula was traversed by a road, wTiich, 
crossing Bunker Hill, swept around Breed's, approaching very near 
the summit of the latter, on the southern side. 

The object of Gage, in seizing Bunker Hill, was to fortify the 
entrance of Charlestown peninsula, both for his own security, and 
as a vantage ground, from which to dislodge the Americans from 
their entrenchments. A council of war was called in the provincial 
camp on receiving intelligence of his contemplated movement. 
Putnam and Pomeroy advocated the seizure of the hill, by a portion 
of their own force, to prevent the English from obtaining it: Ward 
and Warren opposed the measure, as calculated to bring on an 
engagement, for which they did not believe the American army 
prepared. Their chief argument was the' scarcity of powder. 
But Putnam was anxious for a fight. The scene, in that coun- 
cil, was a memorable one. "We will risk only two thousand 
men," said he, "and if driven to retreat, every stone-wall shall 
be lined with dead. If surrounded, and escape cut off, we shall 
set our country an example of which it shall not be ashamed, 
and teach mercenaries what men can do, who are determined 
to live or die free." At these stirring words, Warren, who 
had been walking the floor, stopped and said, " Almost thou per- 
suadest me. General Putnam : still the project is rash ; yet, if you 



;i2l THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

go, be not surprised to find me at your side." " I hope not," said 
Putnam, earnestly, laying his hand on his young associate's shoulder, 
" let us who are old and can be spared, begin the fray. There will 
be time enough for you hereafter, for it will not soon be over." 
The bolder counsel of Putnam, aided by his enthusiasm, prevailed ; 
and when the council broke up, it had been resolved to seize and 
fortify Bunker Hill. 

It was after twilight, on the 16th of June, 1775, that the detach- 
ment, selected for this enterprise, left Cambridge, and took its way, 
in silence and darkness, across the Neck into the peninsula. It was 
necessary to move with caution, for two men-of-war lay in Charles 
River, commanding the Neck. Colonel Prescott, who had charge 
of the expedition, led the way, attended by two sergeants carrying 
dark lanterns. Arrived at Bunker Hill, a consultation was held as 
to whether it would be best to fortify that height, or advance to 
Breed's Hill, which was nearer Boston. It was finally determined 
to erect the principal works on the latter place, and construct a 
smaller redoubt in the rear, on Bunker Hill. This resolution was 
in consequence of Putnam's counsel, who, all through the prelim- 
inary transactions, evidently labored to render a battle inevitable. 

All through that night the provincials labored incessantly, and 
when morning broke, their work was well advanced. No suspicion 
of what was going on meantime had reached the city. Silence 
reigned in the deserted streets of Boston, and th(? sentry, as he went 
his rounds, distinguished no unusual noises. At last the sun, rising 
through the haze on the eastern horizon, shot his lurid rays along 
the summit of Breed's Hill ; and to the astonishment of the sentries, 
the beams were reflected back from a long line of glittering steel. 
Instantly the American fortification stood revealed ! The discovery 
was first made on board a British sloop-of-war, which promptly 
fired an alarm gun. This was replied to by the Somerset frigate, 
from the more immediate vicinity of the fortification. Instantly, 
all Boston was aroused by the unusual sounds. The rumor of their 
cause soon spread. TRe people and soldiery, crowding to the North 
End, could scarcely believe what tliey saw, the redoubt and its brave 
occupiers appearing as if they had risen by enchantment in the 
night. But the enemy lost no time in idle wonder. The shipping 
at once opened their fire on the entrenchments, and soon the battery 
at Copp's Hill, Boston, began to play. Bombs were seen, black 
and threatening, traversing the sky : shot richochetted along the 
sides of Breed's : and the thunder of continual explosions shook the 
windows of the city, and echoed oil' among the neighboring hills. 



ISRAEL PUTNAM. 225 

Putnam had left the detachment, immediately after midnight, and 
returned to his quarters ; but, at the first sound of the cannon, he 
galloped to the scene of action. Here, it was proposed by some, to 
send to camp for a relief; but Prescott urged that the men who 
raised the works were best entitled to the honor of defending them. 
He consented, however, to despatch a messenger to General Ward 
for refreshments. Putnam, perceiving, from the bustle in Boston, 
how imposing a force was mustering to the attack, hurried back to 
camp, thinking his presence might carry influence with it, and 
begged the Conmiander-in-chief to reinforce the redoubt. But Gene- 
ral Ward was convinced that the enemy intended to attack the main 
army, and hence refused. He would not even allow the troops of 
Putnam to follow their leader. Putnam himself, however, could not 
be restrained. He remained at Inman's farm only long enough to be 
satisfied that the enemy did not contemplate a landing at that posi- 
tion, and then, flinging himself on his horse, dashed off' towards 
Bunker Hill, his blood quickening as he approached the scene of 
action, and the cannonade seemed to grow louder and more inces- 
sant. 

Putnam now labored to throw up a redoubt on Bunker Hill, 
while Prescott, with the larger detachment, worked assiduously on 
that at Breed's. At this latter place a redoubt, eight rods square, 
was erected; while a breastwork extended, from its north-eastern 
angle, in a northerly direction, to the marshy ground, or slough, in 
that quarter. Just as the battle was about to begin, the American 
line of defence, at Putnam's suggestion, was extended from the 
slough across the ridge to the Mystic River, by the erection of two 
parallel rail fences, filled up between with new made hay. Mean- 
time, Prescott applied again to General Ward for reinforcements. 
Putnam, too, finding the crisis approaching, galloped once more to 
head-quarters ; this time, it is said, in his shirt-sleeves, for he was 
too excited to think of his coat, which he had cast off" to assist his 
men. Aid at last was granted, the designs of the enemy no longer 
being doubtful. 

He was absent but a short period, and soon hurried back to Bun- 
ker Hill, where he remained, busily animating the men. Prescott, 
in the main fortification, equally encouraged to assiduity. The 
redoubt was now nearly finished. As the provincials rested a mo- 
ment on their spades and looked off towards the neighboring country, 
they witnessed a spectacle which fired each patriotic bosom anew. 
It was now the height of the summer solstice. Far away, the quiet 
farm-houses, amid their waving fields, slept in the sultry noon-tide. 
29 



226 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

Here and there, in the laps of the hills, stood the white churches, 
their spires peeping out above the elms that shaded New England's 
ancestral graves. How peaceful the prospect — yet how inspiriting its 
associations ! Changing the direction of the eye, and looking towards 
the south, Boston, with her thousand troops, was seen beneath. An 
ominous buzz floated up from her streets, as if the whole population 
was in motion, above which at intervals rose the blare of trumpets, 
the shriller note of the fife, and the rumbling of artillery wagons. 
Whole companies of troops were already mustered along the wharves 
as if in readiness to be embarked. The cannon, from the shipping, 
thundered continually. 

This spectacle might have moved stouter hearts, but it struck 
no terror to the provincials, who labored silently on. Noon 
passed, yet they still toiled on. Since they had left Cambridge 
the night before, not a morsel of food had passed their Hps ; 
and now one o'clock was come ; yet they still toiled on. Shells 
exploded, and cannon balls ploughed up the earth around ; yet 
they toiled on. One of their comrades fell ; they buried him 
where he died ; — and toiled on. There was something stern and 
terrible in such demeanor. No shouts rent the air ; no martial music 
cheered their task ; no time-hallowed banner waved above their 
heads : — there was nothing of the usual accompaniments of war to 
excite and madden their imaginations ! But there were other things 
as spirit-stirring ; for, as they looked ofi" towards the mainland, they 
could see the dim walls of their homes; and almost fancy they beheld, 
gazing on, their wives, their sires, or the mothers that gave them 
milk. All over the surrounding hills were groups gathered in anx- 
ious expectation; while, in Boston, crowds lined the wharves, hung 
on the roofs, or looked down from the church steeples. Not a cloud 
obscured the sky. It was a panorama such as the world has never 
seen since. 

Noon had scarcely passed, when the British, to the number of 
three thousand men, with three pieces of artillery, landed at Mor- 
ton's Point, under command of General Howe. The field pieces of 
the enemy immediately began to play, and were answered, for a 
while, by some cannon from the redoubt ; but these soon becoming 
useless, were carried to the rear. Meantime Warren had arrived on 
the field, and shortly after him General Pomeroy : both these well 
known patriots were received with cheers as they rode along the 
line. The men were in the highest spirits. Putnam remained working 
at his redoubt on Bunker Hill, until towards three o'clock, when it 
became evident the enemy were about to advance. Then he has- 



ISRAEL PUTNAM. 



227 




BATTLE OF BLNKER HILL. 



tened to Breed's Hill, where he rode along the line, his presence 
increasing, if that were possible, the enthusiasm of the men. 

It was a splendid spectacle, all cotemporary witnesses agree, that 
of the British army, as it advanced to the attack. It seemed as if a 
single volley from it would annihilate the Americans. The proud 
step of the grenadiers ; their lofty height ; their glittering arms ; and 
the exulting bursts of music which accompanied their march realized 
all that had ever been imagined of the might and panoply of war. 
The men came on in columns, their artillery playing in the advance. 
As the imposing array moved, through the long grass, up the hill, 
the provincials, manning their entrenchments, stood anxiously await- 
ing the crisis. Few of them had ever been in action before. Their 
best weapons were muskets without bayonets : not a few had only 
rusty firelocks. Doubtless many a stout yeoman's bosom throbbed 
that day with terrible suspense. Putnam, Prescott and Pomeroy 
passed among the men encouraging and instructing them. " Do not 
fire until you can see their waistbands," said Putnam. " Take a 
steady aim and have a care not to throw away your balls." 



228 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION, 

The enemy advanced slowly, stopping to let his artillery pla}^, and 
afterwards stepping quicker and discharging volley after volley. The 
thousands of spectators in Boston and elsewhere, seeing no return 
made to this fire, fancied the provincials were paralyzed with fear. 
Nearer, still nearer, the grenadiers approached, and now were close 
upon the redoubt. Suddenly a gush of flame streamed from one end 
of the entrenchment, and ran swiftly along the American line, until 
the whole front was a blaze of fire : a white cloud of smoke shot 
forward, concealing the assailants from sight : a rattling sound, sharp 
and incessant, followed : and then, after a breathless pause of sus- 
pense, which may have continued ten or even twenty seconds, for in 
that thrilling interval no one thought of time, the British army 
emerged in disorder from the smoke, and was seen, in full retreat, 
recoiling down the hill. Just as the British turned to fly, a form 
leaped up on the parapet, and a voice cried tauntingly after one of 
the fugitives who was known to have sneered at American bravery, 
" Colonel Abercrombie, do you call the Yankees cowards, now ?" 

The provincials had conquered. The spectators drew a long 
breath. But suddenly, and almost before their exhilaration had 
time to spread, a scene met their view which changed those feelings 
of triumph into horror and hate. Charlestown, the home of many 
of them, lying directly at the foot of Breed's Hill, was discovered to 
be in flames. Sir William Howe had ordered it to be set on fire 
while he made his preparations for a second attack. Soon the raging 
element was in full play. The flames caught rapidly from house to 
house, rolling volumes of smoke to the sky. Their crackling sound 
smote incessantly on the ear. As the conflagration spread, it reached 
the church, up whose lofty spire the subtle essence ran, and streamed 
far above the vane, a pillar of fire. Sparks were hurried up in mil- 
lions, accompanied by burning fragments, starring with gold the 
black canopy that now hung over the city. The warehouses began 
to explode their combustible materials. Women were seen aban- 
doning their houses, glad to escape alive with their children. The 
bells rung out in alarm ; shrieks and other sounds of tumult arose ; 
while over all was heard the deep roar of the conflagration, wild 
and terrible as when a hurricane is devastating forests. Each instant 
the fury of the raging destroyer increased. The houses, built mostly 
of wood, flashed into flames like powder before the approaching 
conflagration, and the lurid element, surging across the streets, over- 
whelmed new tenements, tossing its fiery crests and plunging head- 
long on, like some burning and devouring ocean. 

In the meantime, reinforcements from Cambridge had arrived at 



ISRAEL, PUTNAM. 229 

the Neck ; but the enemy's shipping had resumed the cannonade ; 
and gusts of fiery sleet drove incessantly across the narrow isthmus. 
The troops drew back. Putnam, who had hurried from the entrench- 
ments to bring up assistance, was almost beside himself at this 
hesitation. He dashed through the hurricane of balls, and calling 
the men to follow him, re-crossed the isthmus. But they remained 
unmoved. Once more he passed the Neck. He exhorted, he im- 
plored the troops ; he even walked his horse across the isthmus ; he 
stood still, while the shot threw the earth up all around him. But 
neither his entreaties, his reproaches, nor the haughty scorn of dan- 
ger he exhibited, could move the men : a few only crossed ; and 
stung to madness by his failure, he turned and hurried passionately 
back to the fight. 

He arrived just in season to participate in the second repulse of 
the British; for Howe, having rallied his troops, was now advancing 
again to the assault. This time the patriots waited until the enemy 
had arrived within six rods ; when they delivered a fire, even more 
murderous than the first. The British again recoiled. In vain their 
officers strove to rally them : the volleys of the excited provincials 
followed in rapid succession : and at last the whole assailing army, 
grenadiers and infantry pell-mell, rushed in disorder to their boats. 
The slaughter had been terrific. Of one company it was found that 
five, of another only fourteen had escaped. Most of the officers 
were down. It was during this assault that an incident occurred, 
that, for a moment, relieved the horrors of the fight. Among the 
enemy Putnam recognised an old friend and fellow soldier, Major 
Small, and recognised him just in time to save his life, by striking 
up a musket levelled at him. Poetical as this occurrence seems, it 
is established on the best testimony, and is, moreover, eminently 
characteristic of Putnam. 

Sir Henry Chnton, perceiving the desperate character of the fight, 
had, meantime, hastened from Boston to Howe's assistance ; and, 
with some difficulty, the troops were rallied once more, and led to 
the attack. This time the soldiers were ordered to throw away 
their knapsacks, reserve their fire, and trust to the bayonet. Howe 
had now discovered, also, the vulnerable point of the Americans ; 
and pushing forward his artillery to the opening between the breast- 
work and redoubt, was enabled to enfilade the whole of the provin- 
cial line. He, moreover, abandoned the attack on the rail fence, 
concentrating his whole force on the redoubt. To resist these 
preparations, the Americans had not even their former means. 
They were now reduced to their last extremity. Their ammunition 

u 



230 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

was exhausted ; bayonets, they had none ; Putnam, with tears of 
mortification, had returned from his unavaiUng effort to bring up 
reinforcements. Nothing was left but to retreat, or repel the enemy 
with the butts of their muskets, or with stones. Having reached 
the works, the foremost of the British attempted to scale them. A 
private mounted first. He was shot down at once with one of tiie 
few remaining charges of ammunition. Major Pitcairn followed him. 
" The day is ours !" he cried, waving his sword, as he leaped on the 
parapet. The words had scarcely left his lips, when he, too, fell, 
mortally wounded. General Pigot next made the attempt to enter 
the works. Pie was the first man who succeeded. The British 
now came pouring in on all sides. The Americans, however, still 
held out. Clubbing their muskets, they fought with desperate valor, 
or gave ground slowly and sullenly. At last Prescott ordered a 
retreat. The American right first fell back, and after it the left. 
Putnam followed the retiring troops, indignant and enraged : making 
a vain eftbrt to induce them to stand again on Bunker Hill. Find- 
ing this impossible, he remained behind to cover their retreat. 
Coming to a deserted field-piece, he dismovmted, and, taking his post 
by it, seemed resolved to brave the foe alone. One man only dared 
remain with him, who was soon shot down. Putnam did not retire 
until the British bayonets were close upon him. He then followed 
the retreating troops, who fell back, in good order, across the Neck, 
and took post at Bunker Hill. 

Night fell on the scene of battle, but did not bring repose. The 
British, as if fearful of an attack from the colonists, kept up an in- 
cessant fire of shot and shells, in the direction of Cambridge. As 
the gloom deepened, the spectacle became terrifically sublime. 
Bombs crossed and re-crossed in the air, leaving fiery trails like 
comets : the thunder of cannon echoed among the hills, and shook the 
solid shores ; lights were seen flashing up and down in Boston, and 
far and wide over the neighboring country ; while, as if to crown 
this terrific day, the smouldering embers of Charlestown illuminated 
the horizon in that direction, and poured upwards thick volumes of 
smoke, which, gradually extending, blotted star after star from the 
heavens. Terrible omen of the years of war to come ! It was a 
night of alarm and vague foreboding, as the day had been of horror 
and blood. 

The moral eftect of this battle, especially in England, was almost 
incredible. But the truth is, that men there had been accustomed 
to regard the inhabitants of the colonies in the same light they did 
the peasantry of the continent, as a timorous, ignorant race, poor, 



ISRAEL PUTNAM. 231 

without leaders, awe-struck before authority : and in this opinion 
they had been confirmed by the representations sent home from per- 
sons in authority, as well as by the statements made in Parliament 
by cowards like Grant, who remembered the colonies only as places 
where their insolence had been chastised. In consequence, when 
it was told abroad, that two or three thousand of these despised 
peasants had virtually defeated four thousand well appointed British 
troops, with a loss to the latter of nearly one-third of their number, 
astonishment and admiration took the place of contempt. Horace 
Walpole alluded to the conflict almost with glee, overlooking all 
considerations of country in sympathy for the Americans. At the 
Court of Versailles the intelligence was received with secret exulta- 
tion, and France, lifting her dishonored head, dreamed of revenge 
for the loss of Canada. 

Putnam was unquestionably the hero of Bunker Hill. Much has 
been written to dispute his claim to this high merit ; but, even ad- 
mitting all the assertions of his enemies, their facts prove nothing. 
It is not now pretended that Putnam held any authorized command 
on the field ; his real post was at Inman's Farm ; but he seems to 
have hurried, in the restlessness of his spirit, from one place to 
another, until the battle really begun, when he flew to Breed's Hill, 
and fought on the American left. Here, as durhig his occasional 
presence in the preceding hours, his reputation, his energetic spirit, 
and the fact of his being the highest officer in rank present, gave him 
an authority which, wherever he went, was paramount for the time. 
He seems, however, not to have interfered with Prescott, who was 
the real Commander-in-chief, and who fought on the right. But, as it 
was in consequence of Putnam's counsels that the battle was brought 
on, so, during the strife, and in the retreat, he was the presiding 
spirit of the day. Whether galloping to head-quarters for reinforce- 
ments, or assisting his men to throw up the redoubt on Bunker Hill, 
or hurrying along the line telling the provincials to reserve their 
fire, or dashing backwards and forwards over the isthmus to persuade 
the recruits to cross, or standing alone before that solitary cannon, 
in the retreat, brandishing his sword passionately against a thousand 
British bayonets, it is still Putnam whom we meet, the Achilles of 
the fight, or, to change the simile, the lurid comet of the scene, 
blazing hither and thither, wilder and wilder every moment, until 
we lose sight of everything else in watching its fiery progress. 

On the second of July, little over two weeks after the battle. Gen- 
eral Washington arrived at Cambridge, having been elected Com- 
mander-in-chief, by Congress, of the American army. The troops 



'I'lii; iii;ui)i;s or tiik isKVoi.r tidn. 



wcir now |)l;ift>(l on the coiiliiKMital cstaltlisliiiicnl ; iind J'lilnnm wns 
one ol" 1 1 If lirsl lour MMJor-dfiicrals coniinissionrd. lie early actiuircd 
I he cstrcm nrWasliin^loii, w'lio, in a IcUcr to I lie I' resident or('on^!;ress, 
.speaks ol Inni, w nil a wonderlul iusii;ln, considering dieir short 
aecjnainlanee, as "a niosl valuable man, and line execaitive ollifer." 
Wlicn it was conn'mplaled lo assanll Hoslon, (o I'ulnani was 
assigned ihe eoniniand of lour dionsand troo|>s, who were to land in 
the west part of the l(»\\ii, and lorein^- their way uj) the Neck towards 
l\o\l)nr\, join the troops who were to enter I'rom that direelion. In 
the summer of I 77(), when (h'ueral (Ireene, Jusl heror<' the hallle 
of Loni; Island, was takcMi sick, \\ ashini;ton selected Putnam to till 
his post ; nor are the mislortnnes ot' the day l<» I"' attrihuted Justly 
n> him, the little time inter\ cnini; hetween his assinnption ol" the 
command and the hallle, not allowinij, leisure lo make himsell' 
acipiainted with the uround. A lew <la\ s al'terwards, on the retreat 
oT (he army Irom New NOrk, I'lUnam was entrusted with the chari;t' 
ot co\<Min^ the rear; and nohly did he execute his trust, tlyini^, iVoin 
poiut to jtoiiit, his horse covered with loam, to eiiconraue the 
troops. i^il lor him the guards would have heen ine\ itahly lost, 
and perhaps e\('U the whole ol the rear corps sacriliced. His selec- 
tion h\' \\ asliiiii;toii, in all such emer^cncii's, |)ro\('s how well that 
ii'real man understood the peculiar (pialiti(>s oirutiiam. I'\)r chi\al- 
rnus (larim;, he had no cipial anioim the L;('ueral ollicers, at that 
limiMU the AuKMicau army. Me reminds ns lorcihly of some of 
Napoleon's Marshals, Mural, Ney or MacD^onald. 'Terrihle in 
the cliari;e, like an avalanche, he carried everything hefore liim ! 
W'Ikmi he rushed upon the foe, linn indeed was the front that could 
resist him: uencrally it sank, crumhliiii;, us when tlic liglitiiini; 
smites the solid rock. 

Durini,' Ihe various opiMalions that followed on the Hudson, and 
lhroui;h the melancholy retreat across th(> Jerseys, I'ntnam w^•ls at 
\\'asliiiiL;loirs side, faithl'ul and energetic, when so many waxcred 
or were careless. To I'ntnam was delegated the command of Phila- 
delphia, in thai t'carfnl crisis, when the enemy was hourly expected 
to advance on the capital. In .lannary, 1777, he was sent to Prince- 
Ion, where he remained until spriiii;. In ^hly lu> was assii^ned the 
ronnnand of a se|)aral(> army in the Highlands of tlie state of New 
York. 'IMiis was an impoitant i)osl, for it was the season when 
Hur^oync was advancini;- from Ihe Canadas. In October, Sir Henry 
('linton iM-oce(>(|ed up Ihe I Indson, landiim at \'erplank's Point. On 
his approach Putnam retired ti> the lii^li i^roimds in his rear. Tlu! 
next morning, concealed by the [\yj;, a portion {>{' the Ihitish crossi-d 



I S It A I : I, I'll IN AM, 2'.i'.i 

llic Iliidsoii lo Sloiiy l*r>iiil ;iii(l |»usli<'i| on lo T'orls MoiilL'oiniTy 
;iti(l (Million. Molli llicsc |>l;uTS \vi'\t: Jiss-iiillcd :il niic(! ;iii(l I'rll : on 
lic.uiii;^ wIikIi, IMiIm.iiii (^viiciiiilrd l''ort,s IikIi'Ix'MiIcik'c- jukI (IoiinIi- 
liilioii, rcliiiiiL!; to KisliMII. 'I'lic coiiiiii.iikI oI'IIh! river vv;is now lost. 
Hill, III ;i I'rw (lnys, Sir Henry (!liiiioii, lie.uin^' of Hin^oyne's siu- 
r(;ii(ler, ;il),iii(lone(| his ;ulv;iiil.i^(ts und r<!lired to Nf^w Yorii. In tlw 
me.intiine, however, I'liln.im h;i(l received ;iii ;i<-e,essi()M ol' niihiiii, 
:iiid ;i di'l.ichineiil. o|" liv<! llioiis.uid nun (Voiii tht; ;iriny ol (J;it(!N, 
whieh niised liis I'oree to eievi'ii thoiis.iiid. WiishiiiLMon now ver- 
h;illy,tliroiiLdi (Colonel I liiinilton, ordered the hri;j;;ide, which I'litii.iin 
li;id re<-eive(| iVoiii the lunlhern ;iriny, to \h'. sent on lo hiinsell, iieiir 
riiil.ide||)hi;i; Itiit, i*iiln;iin hi^sil.itin^, in conse(|nene(r <»!' not (joiii- 
|>le|e|y ,i ppreheinhiifj; the or<l(;r, Ihi; (loinrnMiider-iii-ehieC wrote a 
letter ex|tressiiii; his dissatisractioii. This is the only iiist;iiiee in 
whieh W:isliin)4l()ii (tver c,ensiired I'litiiiini. 'I'lie eondiietol' the latter 
W!is, |)erli;i|is, ;ictii;iled hy ii, d(;sire lo ni.ike :in attempt on New 
York, .'irisiii^ Ironi too iii^li ;iii opinion ol its iiiipoil.ince. I'liln.nn 
eontiniied in coninmnd (d' the I liLdil.'Uids, oee.ision.dly ent-'.i;.Mii;j; in 
desultory (Miterprises. 

To I'liln.-ini principally heloiii/s the merit <d" h.'ivini^ s(de.c,(,(',(i West 
I'oint as th(! true key to the Highlands. In Miirch, I77.S, Putiiaiu 
was reli(!V(!d of his command, in cons('(pi(!nc(! of liaviiit^ Ixicome 
nnpopiil.ir with the people of New York. The fact, a|)pe:i.rs to he 
that, hy his inlerlerence with wli.il Ik; eonsideicd the peciiliUions ol 
some of the ])ersons entrusted with the (lis|»os;il ol lory property. In; 
awok(! the enmity of a powerliil ;ind sellish p;irly, who found ;i 
liaii(Jle, in iiis ackii(»wle,(|^'e<| elemeney low.-irds till' enemy, to delinne 
aiid injure his charncter. VVh.it was then, however, in tlu; eyes of 
("acttion, a, fault, is now regarded as a viiliie; and it is I'litnam's 
hij^liest praise that while indomilahle in the li^ht, In; was courteims 
to tli(t eonipiered. lie endeavored lo soft(!U, as far as |)ossihle, 
the a,sp(!rities of war. In a word, he had the lenderiK'ss <d a. woman, 
hut the courage (d a lion. 

Sliortly aftcjr the hallle of Monmoiilh, I'ntnam relnrned to iIk; army, 
where Ik; took (•onimand of tin; right wing, heiiig now S(!coiid in 
I'ank to the (!oiiimaiider-iii-ehief. After that haltle, how<!Ver, there 
was a. hill in I Ik; t em pest ol war for nearly I wo years, and no o|)|»oi - 
tuuity occurred where I'ulnam could disliiigiiish himsejj' in his pecu- 
liar way. It is, p(!rliaps, to he regretted that In; was ahseiit from the, 
main army in tin; eainpaign of I 777, for hotli al I'randy wiin; and (ler- 
iiianlown then; were, «;mergencies when his headlong valor might al- 
most liave, ehangeii the day. In 177f',he was detached to Coiuieulicut, 



234 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

where he was nearly surprised, at West Greenwich, by Governor 
Tryon, and only escaped, by plunging on horseback, headlong down 
a steep ascent, almost precipitous, and nearly one hundred feet high. 
The place has since been called Putnam's Leap, and occasionally 
Horse-neck Hill. This feat is, perhaps, the favorite with the public, 
of the numerous daring enterprises of Putnam's career. 

His career was now drawing to a close. Towards the end of the 
campaign of 1779, he was seized with paralysis, by which the use of 
his limbs, on one side, was temporarily lost. The complaint refusing 
to yield, unless to repose, the rest of his days was passed in compa- 
rative inaction. He survived until the 17th of May, 1790, when he 
died, after a sharp attack of inflammatory disease, aged seventy-two 
years. He retained his faculties to the last, the consolations of reli- 
gion sustaining his closing hours. The seven years of retirement 
that ensued between the peace of 1783 and his death, were passed 
in comparative prosperity ; for his early agricultural labors had pro- 
duced him a comfortable property. He was twice married, the 
second time in 1764 ; but he was again a widower in 1777 ; and he 
continued one until his death. 

The career of Putnam is, perhaps, more familiar to the popular 
mind than that of any of the Generals of the Revolution, except 
Washington. The anecdotes told of him, and perpetuated in a thou- 
sand shapes, are innumerable ; and it is because they are so well 
known, that we have generally avoided them. They are all, how- 
ever, eminently characteristic. His self-possession as a boy when 
caught in the limb of the apple tree ; his answer to Governor Fitch, 
of Connecticut, in reference to destroying the stamped papers ; his 
stratagem at Princeton, which so happily reconciled his kindness of 
heart and his duty as a commander ; his laconic note to Sir Henry 
Clinton, in reference to hanging the spy, claimed by the royal Gene- 
ral as a British officer; all shew his coolness in danger, his resolution 
when aroused, his inventive genius, and his stern sense of duty; 
(Qualities which, united to great personal daring and even greater 
tenderness of heart, made up the character of Putnam. He never 
could have become a first-rate General-in-chief, like Greene or 
Washington, for he wanted comprehensive genius ; but he was bra- 
ver than even Arnold, if that were possible ; and infinitely superior 
in every moral quality. As a leader of division under Napoleon he 
would have stormed over the bloodiest fields victoriously ; and left 
his name associated, immortally, with Wagram, Leipsic, and Wa- 
terloo ! 




RICHARD MONTGOMERY, 



/^^^^!^\. ICHARD Montgomery, a Major-Gene- 

ral in the continental army, was bom, of 
a family of standing, in the north of Ire- 
land, on the 2nd of December, 1736. He 
received his education at the college of 
Dublin, and, at the age of eighteen ob- 
tained a commission in the British army, 
the military profession suiting alike his 
own taste and his father's wishes. He 
first saw active service in America, 
whither he went in 1757. In the following year his regiment was 
at the siege of Louisburg, and on this occasion young Montgomery's 
military qualities were so conspicuous that he was promoted to a 
Lieutenancy. After the fall of that place, Montgomery's regiment, 
with five others, was despatched to join Abercrombie at Lake Cham- 

235 




236 THE IIEKOES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

plain. He remained with tlie army operating against Canada, until 
1760, when Montreal finally surrendered to the British arms. He 
next visited the West Indies, and partook in the expeditions against 
Martinico and Havana. His conduct here procured his elevation to 
the command of a company. Soon after the treaty of Versailles, 
which, in 1763, put an end to the war, he procured permission to 
visit Europe, where he remained until 1772, when he finally aban- 
doned his native country, and removed to America, with the intention 
of permanently settling there. His reasons for this resolution are 
understood to have been that, having twice been frustrated in the 
purchase of a majority, and being convinced that there was a govern- 
ment agency in both cases, he determined to quit the service, and 
throw off the country, which had thus become hostile to his interests. 
What cause there was, if any, for the enmity of the government, has 
never been made public ; but Montgomery never would admit any. 
On the contrary, that he felt himself wantonly ill-used, is evident, 
from the pertinacity with which, ever after, he declaimed against 
the oppressions of England. 

Having married Miss Livingston, a daughter of Robert R. Liv- 
ingston, he settled at Rhinebeck, in Dutchess county. New York, 
and devoted himself to agriculture. He soon acquired influence in 
the province. The disputes between Great Britain and the colonies 
were, every year, becoming more alarming; and Montgomery, taking 
the part of his adopted country, was, in April, 1775, elected a mem- 
ber of the first Provincial Convention of New York. The battle of 
Lexington soon followed. The whole nation became, as it were, 
transformed into a garrison ; and the din of preparing arms resound- 
ed, day and night. The general Congress proceeded to form an army, 
of which Washington was chosen Commander-in-chief, with four Ma- 
jor-Generals, and eight Brigadiers. The influence of his connexions, 
added to his reputation, procured Montgomery a commission as 
Brigadier. Though the gift was unsolicited, he would not refuse it. 
Writing to a friend, he says : " The Congress having done me the 
honor of electing me a Brigadier-General in their service, is an event 
which must put an end for a while, perhaps forever, to the quiet 
scheme of life I had prescribed for myself; for, though entirely un- 
expected and undesired by me, the will of an oppressed people, 
compelled to choose between liberty and slavery, must be obeyed." 
These were noble sentiments, and, in a few months, he sealed them 
with his blood. 

One of the first aims of Congress was to enlist Canada in the con- 
test. For this purpose an expedition against that province was 



RICHARD MONTGOMERy. 



23: 



determined on, for the two-fold purpose of expelling the English, 
and inducing the Canadians to join the Americans. Two routes 
were selected for the invasion, the one by the Sorel, the other by the 
Kennebec. The latter was assigned to Arnold; the former to Major- 
General Schuyler. Arnold, with a thousand men, was to cross the 
wilderness of Maine, and form a junction at, or near Quebec, with 
Schuyler, who, in the meantime, with three thousand troops, was to 





CT. JOHNS, ON THE 80EEL. 



act, by the other route, against Forts St. John, Chamblee and North- 
erly. With Schuyler went Montgomery as second in command. 
The first destination of the army was to have been Ticonderoga ; 
but in the capture of that place Schuyler was anticipated by Ethan 
Allen. On the 17th of August, Montgomery arrived at Ticonderoga, 
in advance of his commanding officer, and immediately began to 
make preparations for proceeding down the lake. On the 5th of 
September, General Schuyler reached the camp. The investment 
of St. Johns was, at once, begun. But, on the night of the landing, 
a spy brought in such intelligence of the strength of the enemy, as 
induced the Americans to abandon their design; and, on the 7th, the 
troops were re-conducted to their former post at the Isle-aux-Noix. 
At this point General Schuyler wrote to Congress : — " I cannot esti- 
mate the obligations I lie under to General Montgomery, for the 



238 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

many important services he has done, and daily does, and in which 
he has had Httle assistance from me." Soon after, General Schuyler 
was compelled, by ill-health, to return to Albany, on which the 
command of the expedition devolved on General Montgomery. 

He proved himself fully equal to the arduous task. It is now that 
we first really arrive at the military career of Montgomery, a career 
destined to be as short as it was brilliant. He had already, in his 
earlier campaigns, traversed the ground on which he was now called 
to operate ; and, having then made himself thoroughly acquainted 
with it, he was now able to act under peculiar advantages. The 
decision, sagacity, and promptitude of his character became immedi- 
ately apparent. In a short time, the whole of Canada had been 
conquered, except the single city of Quebec, then, and since, the 
Gibraltar of America. Fort Chamblee was first captured, by a 
detachment sent forward, under Majors Livingston and Brown. 
Then, General Carleton, the British Governor of Canada, approach- 
ing to raise the siege of St. Johns, was defeated. This happened at 
Longueil, on the 31st of October, as he attempted to cross the river. 
St. Johns now surrendered. Immediately advancing to Montreal, 
Montgomery captured that city on the 12th of November. He had 
hoped to surprise Carleton here, but that General, receiving timely 
warning, had at first flown to his fleet, and afterwards, fearing he 
could not force his way, had trusted himself to a small boat, and 
with muffled oars, succeeded in passing the American batteries and 
armed vessels in the night. 

But now, to his chagrin, Montgomery found it impossible to prose- 
cute his victorious career as he wished, or as America expected of 
him. Most of his troops were disinclined to remain longer in the 
field. Indeed, before his late success, he had been compelled to 
pacify them by a promise, that, " Montreal in his possession, no 
further service would be exacted from them." He nevertheless did 
the best he could, under these discouraging circumstances. His first 
object was to eff'ect a junction with Arnold, who, on the 19th of 
November, had crossed the St. Lawrence in safety. This was 
effected on the 4th of December. His next was to pursue Carleton 
to Quebec, where that General had taken refuge ; and attempt the 
reduction of this stronghold. " I need not tell you," he wrote to a 
member of Congress, " that, till Quebec is taken, Canada is uncon- 
quered." He entertained, however, no visionary prospects of suc- 
cess. He states distinctly, in the letter just referred to, that, unless 
Congress reinforces him, the result must be exceedingly doubtful. 
There were but three ways of reducing Quebec : first, by siege ; 



RICHARD MONTGOMERY. 239 

second, by investment ; third, by storm. The first was impracticable, 
because, in the winter, the ground was frozen too hard to dig 
trenches ; and, before summer could arrive, an English fleet, with 
reinforcements, would be in the St. Lawrence. The second was 
impossible, in consequence of the small number of his troops : and 
if possible, would have been impolitic, because it deprived the Cana- 
dian farmers of their city market, without aftbrding a substitute ; 
and to conciliate, not irritate the Canadians, was the desire of Mont- 
gomery. The only plan, which afforded even a gleam of success, 
was the third and last, that of a storm. But that Montgomery fully 
comprehended all the difficulties of his position, and was, by no 
means, sanguine even of an assault, will appear by another extract 
from the letter already twice referred to. 

" To the storming plan," he writes, " there are fewer objections ; 
and to this we must come at last. If my force be small, Carleton's 
is not great. The extensiveness of his works, which, in case of 
investment, would favor him, will, in the other case, favor us. 
Masters of our secret, we may select a particular time and place 
for attack, and, to repel this, the garrison must be prepared at all 
times and places ; a circumstance, which will impose upon it inces- 
sant watching and labor by day and by night ; which, in its undis- 
ciplined state, must breed discontents that may compel Carleton to 
capitulate, or, perhaps, to make an attempt to drive us off. In this 
last idea, there is a glimmering of hope. Wolfe's success was a 
lucky hit, or rather a series of such hits. All sober and scientific 
calculation was against him, until Montcalm, permitting his courage 
to get the better of his discretion, gave up the advantages of his 
fortress, and came out to try his strength on the plain. Carleton, 
who was Wolfe's Quartermaster-General, understands this well ; and, 
it is to be feared, will not follow the Frenchman's example." 
This prediction was verified by the result. Carleton remained in 
his fortress, on his guard against a surprise. No demonstrations of 
the Americans could induce him to abandon his covert : inflexible 
and defying, he remained secure behind his massive walls ! 

At first, Montgomery began a bombardment, but, as he had only 
five small mortars, he soon desisted, finding them of no effect. He 
then opened a six gun battery, about seven hundred yards from the 
fortress ; but his pieces were of too small calibre. A council of war 
was now called, when the question was submitted, "shall we attempt 
the reduction of Quebec by a night attack?" This was carried by 
a majority of one. It was then decided that the lower town should 
be the point attacked, and that the assault should be made on the 



240 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. 

first favorable opportunity. A night was selected, but it proved 
too clear, and then Montgomery, as if with a foreboding of his fate, 
chose the last day of the year for the enterprise. Meantime, the 
enemy, through his spies, had obtained intelligence of the intended 
assault, and held himself in readiness. The American General 
decided to make the attack on two sides of the lower town at once : 
Arnold leading one detachment, and himself another. While these 
two were thus engaged, a third division was to make a succession 
of feints against the upper town. Between three and four o'clock, 
accordingly, of the morning of the 31st of December, 1775, the 
troops were put in motion. Montgomery's division was in high 
spirits, notwithstanding they had to make their way against a 
driving tempest of snow, which almost blocked up their road. The 
route lay around the foot of the promontory, where his way was 
further impeded by huge masses of ice, which the tide had piled, 
high and jagged, between the river and the face of the precipice. 
The men were continually slipping, and suffering intensely from the 
cold. Fierce and sullen the huge St. Lawrence roared along at their 
sides, its white crests occasionally flashing through the gloom ; while 
avalanches of snow, blown from the heights overhead, came drifting 
down across the darkness. Occasionally, too, huge fire-balls, pro- 
jected by the enemy, falling on the snow, or simmering on the river, 
flung their lurid light around. At last the promontory was passed ; 
and the first barrier appeared. Pausing a moment to restore order 
to his ranks, Montgomery dashed forward, and, in an instant, the 
work was carried. The second was just before, dimly seen through 
the faint light, guarded by a row of palisades. An instant Montgom- 
ery halted, but only for an instant : it was while his troops gathered 
around him for another rush. He pointed, with his sword, to the 
palisades ahead. His eye kindled, and his form dilated. " Men of 
New York," he cried, "you will not fear to follow where your 
General leads, — march on !" Pronouncing these stirring words, he 
dashed forward, followed closely by his companions. He was one 
of the first to gain the pickets, which he seized with his own hands, 
and began pulling them up, his men eagerly imitating his example, 
and everything promising a speedy and glorious victory. The road 
was here so narrow that five persons could scarcely walk abreast. 
INIontgomery, pressing exultingly on, had gained a rising ground 
about thirty yards from the barrier, when, suddenly, a couple of , 
cannon, which had been masked there, were discharged down the 
passage. The efiect was terrific ; the Americans, crowded together, 
were mowed down in heaps : the path of that hurricane of balls, 



RICHARD MONTGOMERY". 241 

being as distinctly marked as a windfall in the forest. Montgomery, 
being foremost, was one of the first to fall : his two aids, at his 
side, followed him so instantaneously, that the bodies of all three 
rolled over together on the ice, at the side of the river. The rest of 
the assailants recoiled in dismay. The troops lost their confidence. 
Confusion and terror followed, and, in a few minutes, the Americans, 
who so lately had seemed to hold victory within their grasp, were 
totally defeated. It does not belong to this biography to follow the 
fortunes of Arnold's division, except so far as to state that it also 
was repulsed, Arnold himself receiving a severe wound in the leg, 
and Morgan, his second in command, being captured. 

The military career of Montgomery was too short to develope, to 
their full extent, the resources of his genius. He had, however, 
during his campaign of three months, exhibited great military talents: 
prudence, coolness, foresight, energy, and personal courage the most 
chivalrous. His industry was great; his vigilance sleepless. He 
combined great strengthi and activity in his physical organization, 
with a high intellect, and many excellent qualities of heart. He was 
affable and kind ; a patriot, and a gentleman. He had none of that 
vanity which disdained the advice of others ; but, when his own 
opinions were over-ruled, cheerfully acquiesced. When he first 
assumed command of the troops they were jealous of him in the 
extreme ; but he gradually won their confidence, and at last inspired 
them with his own enthusiasm. They followed him, in that terrible 
assault, with a valor the most heroic, and their rehance on him is 
shewn by their consternation when he fell. Those who belonged to 
Arnold's division, and were taken prisoners, burst into tears when 
they saw his dead body, the next day. Had he lived, the result 
might have been difl'erent, though even that is problematical. As it 
was, he won a martyr's name. We do not know but that his fate 
was an enviable one. Even had he survived to become one of the most 
successful Generals of the war, his name never would have been 
regarded with the sanctity and veneration with which it is now 
worshipped. Perishing, in the arms of what seemed almost a victory, 
and after a series of brilliant and decisive successes, his death seems 
the fitting climax to a race of glory. Both England and America 
united to regret him. Eloquence pronounced his panegyric abroad ; 
patriotism wept his untimely end at home. The British minister, at 
the close of a eulogy, pronounced on him, said, " Curses on his vir- 
tues, they have undone his country," 

Montgomery perished at the early age of thirty-eight. His remains, 
at the entreaty of Lieutenant-Governor Craniate, were allowed burial 
31 V 



242 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



within the city. A plain coffin was provided, with a silver plate on 
the lid. Forty-two years after, his remains, by a resolution of the 
state of New York, were disinterred, and conveyed to the city of 
New York, where they were deposited, with august ceremonies, 
near the monument which Congress had erected, in front of St. Paul's 
church, to his memory. His name has ever been cherished with 
peculiar fondness by Americans. 





ETHAN ALLEN. 







^^ THAN ALLEN, 
jj-^;"*-^ Brevet-Colonel in 
j4'thc Continental 
r^i^^/Line, was born in 
:^v^ Litchfield, Con- 
Viiccticut, though 
^\\n what year is 
not known. He 
was a man of 
strong, natural 
powers of mind, 
but possessing lit- 
tle cultivation. — 
He was, perhaps, 
some what too self- 
confident in all 
things. His cour- 
affe was bold 



even to rashness. Ambitious and determined in public life ; in pri- 
vate he was mild and placable. His manners were eccentric. He 
was frank, generous and warm-hearted ; in religious matters he was 
a skeptic. We introduce him into this series of biographies on 
account of his capture of Ticonderoga, and the sufferings he endured 
when subsequently a prisoner in the hands of the British. 

At an early period of his career, Allen removed from Connecticut 
and settled within the borders of the present state of Vermont, on 
what were called the New Hampshire grants. At that time, the 

243 



244 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

boundaries between the different provinces were not clearly definedj 
and both New York and New Hampshire claimed the territory 
between the Connecticut river and Lake Champlain. The Governor 
of the latter state even proceeded so far as to grant patents for tracts 
of land, on which many individuals were induced to settle, among 
whom were Ethan Allen, his brother, and other Connecticut yeomen. 
In course of time, under the labor of these pioneers, the forest disap- 
peared, and in its place rose flourishing farms and thriving villages. 
About this period New York put in her claim for the territory, and. 
in 1764, procured a decree of the King in council in favor of her 
right. Bat when the settlers, or as they now called themselves, the 
Green Mountain Boys, found the Surveyors of New York running lines 
over the lands they had so long regarded as their own, and heard 
that they were expected to pay a second time for their farms, a spirit 
of the most determined resistance to this practical injustice was aroused. 
The result was a controversy between the settlers and the govern- 
ment of New York, which raged with great bitterness up to the period 
of the Revolution, and was only adjusted, as we shall see, with great 
difficulty, even after that event had achieved their common indepen- 
dence, the dispute even threatening, at one time, to throw Vermont 
into the arms of Great Britain. 

It was in this controversy, and before the war of the Revolution, 
that Ethan Allen first rose to eminence as a public character. By 
general consent he became the head and directer of the disaffected 
settlers, and was given the command of a body of troops raised by 
them, to resist the aggressions of New York. 

When the members of the Connecticut Legislature, immediately 
after the battle of Lexington, conceived the capture of Ticonderoga, 
he was suggested to them as a suitable person to command the 
expedition. The self-constituted committee had proceeded from 
Hartford to Bennington, raising volunteers as they went along; and 
at the latter place they held a council of war, in which Allen was 
formally appointed the leader of the projected enterprise. Just as 
the troops were about to set forward, Arnold arrived from Massa- 
chusetts, having been commissioned by the Committee of Safety of 
that colony to seize Ticonderoga, though without any knowledge of 
the proposed expedition of Allen. Arnold, however, brought no 
men with him ; and hence, in the end, though not until he had made 
considerable difficulty, consented to waive his commission and serve 
imder Allen as a volunteer. 

The main body, consisting of one hundred and forty persons, now 
pushed forward, and, arriving on the shore of the Lake opposite 



ETHAN ALLEN. 245 

Ticonderoga, proceeded immediately to cross. This was in the night, 
and but eighty -three had crossed when the dawn broke. Resolving 
not to wait for the remainder of his force, Allen drew up his men in 
three ranks, made them a short address, and, placing himself at their 
head, led them silently but with rapid steps, up the heights on which 
the fortress stood. As he reached the gate, with Arnold at his side, 
a sentinel snapped his musket at them and then hastily retreated to 
the shelter of a covering. Another sentinel made a thrust at one of 
the officers, on which Allen cut the soldier across the head with his 
sword, when the man threw down his gun and begged for quarter. 
The assailants now rushed on and gaining the parade between the 
barracks, gave three hearty cheers in token of their victory. Having 
done this, they remained with ready arms, while Allen advanced to 
the door of the Commandant's apartment, which was approached by 
a stairs attached to the outside of the barracks, and, knocking loudly, 
called for the Captain to appear, or the whole garrison should be 
sacrificed. DeLaplace startled from sleep thus rudely, arose and 
opened the door in bewilderment, when the form of Allen appeared 
with a drawn sword, and his voice was heard sternly demanding an 
instant surrender. "By what authority?" asked DeLaplace, won- 
dering with whom Great Britain, unknown to himself, was at war. 
" In the name of the Great Jehovah and the Continental Congress," 
exclaimed Allen. The Governor attempted to expostulate, but Allen 
raised his weapon over his head, and seeing no alternative, DeLa- 
place gave up his sword and ordered the garrison to parade without 
arms. The principal advantage of this capture was the possession 
of one hundred and twenty pieces of cannon, besides numerous 
swivels, mortars, small arms and stores. The number of prisoners 
was one Captain, one Lieutenant, and forty-eight subalterns and 
privates. During the day the remainder of Allen's main body 
arrived, and on the morrow he was still further reinforced, so 
that his troops, which, in the assault, had numbered, as we have seen, 
but eighty-three, two days after, rose to two hundred and twenty-six. 
The capture of Crown Point followed. A combined land and 
naval attack was then projected against St. Johns, in which Allen 
led the land, and Arnold the naval forces. The latter arrived 
first at his destination, and captured a King's sloop armed with two 
brass six pounders, besides taking twenty men prisoners ; but, hear- 
ing of the approach of reinforcements, he thought it advisable to 
retreat. On his return, about fifteen miles from St. Johns, he met 
Allen, who, notwithstanding Arnold's report, determined to proceed. 
The consequence of this rashness was that the enemy attacked him 



246 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

the next morning with two hundred men and defeating him with the 
loss of three prisoners, compelled him to retire hastily to Ticonde- 
roga. Allen now took command of this latter fortress, while Arnold 
became Governor of Crown Point. Meantime, notice of these pro- 
ceedings having been sent to the Continental Congress, that body 
had requested Gov. Trumbull, of Connecticut, to despatch a body of 
troops to Lake Champlain sufficient to defend these important acqui- 
sitions ; and, accordingly, a thousand men having been deputed for 
that purpose, under command of Col. Hinman, Allen, on their 
arrival, resigned the post into their hands. The capture of Ticonde- 
roga was one of the boldest affairs of the war, and was regarded 
abroad as even more brilliant than it really was ; for the place had 
played so important a part in former contests, and was thought to be 
so impregnable, that men could not credit how it could be taken by 
eighty raw volunteers. 

Col. Allen now visited Philadelphia, in order to procure pay 
for the soldiers who had served under him, and to solicit authority 
to raise a regiment in the New Hampshire grants. Congress voted 
to allow the men and officers engaged in the enterprise against Ticon- 
deroga and Crown Point the same pay as was received by officers 
and privates in the American army ; but the question of raising a 
regiment they referred to the Provincial Congress of New York, in 
order that no controversy might arise about jurisdiction at a time 
when unanimity was so desirable. To the Congress of New York 
accordingly, Allen proceeded ; and that body promptly passed a 
resolution for raising a regiment of Green Mountain Boys. Of this 
regiment Seth Warner, the friend and Lieutenant of Allen, was 
chosen Lieutenant-Colonel. 

Allen now joined the northern army under Gen. Schuyler, as a 
volunteer. The invasion of Canada had been originally proposed by 
himself, in a letter written from Crown Point on the 2nd of the pre- 
ceding June ; and though the project had then been overlooked, he 
had now the gratification of seeing it carried into effect by the Con- 
tinental Congress. With an address to the Canadians, Allen was 
despatched into Canada, where his mission met with considerable 
success. Gen. Montgomery having succeeded Schuyler about the 
time of Allen's return, despatched the latter a second time into Can- 
ada, for the purpose of raising as many of the inhabitants as he 
could, to take arms and unite with the Americans. He soon suc- 
ceeded in collecting about three hundred Canadians, and wrote to 
Montgomery that, with a little exertion, he could obtain a thousand. 
Had he now returned to his General, with these recruits, the whole 



ETHAN ALLEN. 247 

fate of the expedition might have been ahered ; but, in an evil hour, 
he met Major Brown, who commanded an advance party of Ameri- 
cans and Canadians, and the latter proposed that they should unite 
their forces and attempt to surprise Montreal. The duty of Allen 
was plain ; it was to resist the temptation, and return to Montgom- 
ery, who, busily engaged in besieging St. Johns, needed his assist- 
ance. But Allen had been too long accustomed to acting without a 
superior, to pay much regard to the requirements of discipline. 
Allured by the prospect of so great a prize, he determined to risk 
the enterprise. As might have been foreseen it failed. Allen, with 
eighty Canadians and thirty Americans, crossed the river below the 
town before dawn ; but Major Brown, who was to have landed 
above, failed to arrive in consequence of the high winds and waves. 
It was now too late for Allen to retreat, as his canoes could carry 
but a third of his force at a time. With the break of day the enemy 
became alarmed, and soon a body of forty regulars, with two hun- 
dred Canadians, besides a few Indians, made their appearance. All 
his men now deserted except about thirty-eight, on which he agreed 
to surrender if promised honorable terms. Thus ended this Quixotic 
enterprise ! 

Now ensued a series of personal sufferings, visited on Allen by 
the British authorities, which will ever remain a disgrace on the Brit- 
ish name. All parties, from lowest to highest, should share in this 
obloquy ; for the ill-treatment begun at Montreal, was persevered in 
when Allen went to England ; it was a matter of public notoriety, 
the Prime Minister being as cognizant of it as the meanest subaltern 
who tyrannized over the unfortunate captive. We shall follow 
Allen's sufferings, in detail, through the two years and a half of his 
imprisonment. On being carried into Montreal, he was threatened 
by Gen. Prescott with a halter at Tyburn ; and afterwards sent on 
board the Gaspee man-of-war, where he was hand-cufied, and his 
ankles put in shackles, to which a bar of iron eight feet long was 
fastened. He was then thrust into the lowest part of the ship, where 
a common sailor's chest was alike his bed and seat. Here he re- 
mained five weeks. He was afterwards transferred to Quebec and 
placed on board another vessel, where, for a few days, he enjoyed a 
respite from his sufferings ; the Captain, a Mr. Littlejohn, ordering 
his irons to be taken off, and giving him a seat at his own table. On 
the approach of the American army, Allen was put on board 
a vessel of war, and sent, with other prisoners, to England. His 
hand-cuffs were now replaced, and, with thirty-three others, he was 
confined in a single apartment, which they were not allowed to leave 



V ( 



248 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

during a passage that extended to nearly forty days. Barbarities like 
these were then known only to the slave trade. 

It was a happy hour for the poor captives when the vessel that 
bore them anchored in the harbor of Falmouth. Now, for the first 
time since they started, were they permitted to come on deck and 
breathe the fresh air. The prisoners, on being landed, experienced 
better treatment, though still such as would have been deemed harsh 
to any who had suffered less. They were now lodged in an airy apart- 
ment, and indulged with beds of straw. But their irons were still 
kept on. Allen himself was distinguished by several marks of pecu- 
liar favor, chiefly owing to his rank and to the renown of the capture 
of Ticonderoga. Still, however, threats that he would yet be exe- 
cuted as a traitor, were frequently made to him. In this emergency 
he asked leave to write a letter to the Continental Congress ; when he 
took occasion to depict the sufferings he had endured and to advise 
retaliation. A missive of this character, as he had expected, was 
sent to Lord North, instead of to the American Congress ; and in the 
end more lenient measures were resolved on by the ministry, and 
the prisoners, instead of being tried for treason, ordered back to their 
own country. 

During this compulsory stay in England, Allen had been visited 
by many persons. His appearance, at this time, was peculiar even 
to grotesqueness. When captured, he had on a Canadian dress, 
consisting of a jacket of fawn skin, vest and breeches of sagathy, 
worsted stockings, shoes, and a r-ed worsted cap ; and this dress, 
from poverty, he still wore. On the return voyage, however, the 
vessel stopped at Cork, where the humanity of the inhabitants fur- 
nished him with a suit of clothes and some money. The captain of 
the ship, on seeing Allen, for the first time, come on deck, ordered 
him to leave it, saying it was a place only " for gentlemen to walk." 
Two days after, however, having shaved and arranged his dress, 
Allen boldly appeared again on deck, when the captain demanded 
harshly if he had forgotten the order. Allen said that he had heard 
such an order, but as he had also heard that " the deck was the 
place for gentlemen to walk," he, being a gentleman, claimed the 
privilege of his rank. The captain, uttering an oath, cautioned the 
prisoner never to be seen on the same side of the ship as himself, 
and turned on his heel ; and Allen took good care afterwards to 
avoid his tyrant, when availing himself of this tacit privilege to 
breathe the fresh air. 

The prisoners were first carried to New York, and afterwards to 
Halifax, where, confined in a sloop, with scanty provisions, the 



ETHAN ALLEN. 249 

scurvy broke out among them. In vain Allen wrote to his tyrants, 
soliciting medical aid : nothing moved their obdurate hearts. Finally 
the guard was bribed to carry a letter to the Governor. This pro- 
cured some amelioration in their condition, as it obtained for them 
tile assistance of a surgeon, and was the means of changing their 
quarters from the prison-ship to the town-jail. Congress, as well as 
the Legislature of his native state, Connecticut, were now actively 
engaged in negotiating the exchange of Allen and his unfortunate 
companions. The prisoners were put on board the Lark frigate and 
carried to New York. On this passage Allen was honorably treated 
by the captain, a kindness which he rewarded by preventing a con- 
spiracy among the prisoners to seize the ship. At New York he 
was admitted to his parole, but his heart was pained by seeing the 
sufferings of his fellow countrymen, captured at Fort Washington 
and Long Island, who were huddled into the churches, and other 
places, and left to perish there of hunger, cold and disease, an indeli- 
ble stain on the memory of Sir William Howe. On one occasion 
Allen himself, on a false charge of infringing his parole, was cast 
into prison, and denied food for three days. Finally, on the 3rd of 
May, 1778, he was exchanged for Lieutenant-Colonel Campbell, and 
found himself, after his incredible sufferings, once more free. 

His first object was to repair to the camp at Valley Forge, in order 
in person to thank General Washington for the efforts of the Com- 
mander-in-chief to procure his liberation. He then turned his steps 
homeward, to his darling Vermont, where his return was hailed as 
a season of festivity. Congress, meantime, not unmindful of his suf- 
ferings and services, granted him a brevet commission of Colonel in 
the continental army ; and, moreover, resolved that he should be 
entitled to the pay and other emoluments of a Lieutenant-Colonel, 
for the period he was a prisoner. Allen, however, did not serve, at 
any time after this, against the common enemy ; for the feud between 
his state and New York had again broken oiU, and his time was 
now monopolized by this controversy. 

During his absence, the inhabitants of the New Hampshire grants 
had formed a constitution, and declared their territory an indepen- 
dent state, under the name of Vermont. There were still many 
persons in New York who regarded this as robbing that common- 
wealth of part of her land ; and who resisted it accordingly. Allen 
returned at an opportune moment. The Governor of New York 
had just issued a proclamation, containing overtures for a peaceable 
adjustment of the controversy. His proposition was that the patents 
granted by New Hampshire should be confirmed, but that the pur- 
32 



250 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

chasers should continue to pay a quit rent as under tlie old colonial 
system, and that the unsettled lands were to be the property of New 
York. Through the influence of Allen, these terms were rejected. 
In his opinion any proposal which did not imply the entire indepen- 
dence of Vermont as a state was to be refused. 

The controversy continued for several years, and, at one time, 
reached so threatening a point that the British ministry believed 
Vermont might be induced to return to her allegiance. Informal 
overtures to this end were even made to Allen, who, on his part, 
allowed the enemy to continue deceived, and thus secured for Ver- 
mont the benefits of a neutrality during the remainder of the war. 
The coldness with which Congress had regarded the claims of Ver- 
mont, was alleged by vVUen as his defence for this conduct. He and 
his friends looked on Vermont as an independent commonwealth, 
having the right to make war or peace without consulting the con- 
federated states. Her position was, indeed, that of a nation in rebel- 
lion against the united colonies, which were themselves in rebellion 
against the parent state — a wheel within a wheel ! We leave it for 
casuists to assail or defend his conduct. 

When the insurrection in Massachusetts broke out, Allen was soli- 
cited by Shays and his associates, to take command of the revolters; 
but this proposition he indignantly rejected ; at the same time he 
wrote a letter to the Governor of Massachusetts, in which he assured 
that ofiicer that none of the insurgents should be abetted by Vermont. 
The purity of his patriotism was proved by another circumstance. 
Learning that one of his brothers had become a tory, he petitioned 
the court to confiscate the oflender's property. 

Allen died by a stroke of apoplexy, at Burlington, Vermont, in 
1789. He had been twice married. His second wife, and his chil- 
dren by both wives, survived him. 




WILLIAM MOULTRIE 




ILLIAM Moultrie, a Major- 
General in the continental, 
army, was born at Charles- 
ton, South Carolina, in 1731. 
He was early distinguished 
for coolness and intrepidity 
in danger. The Indian wars 
'^^^-^ J*^V <^4,-/' were, at that period, the ordi- 

nary school of the young American soldier ; and Moultrie first " en- 
tered the field of Mars," to use his own expression, in the campaign 
of 1761, where he commanded a company, of which Marion was 
Lieutenant. This was the year when the Indian settlements, beyond 
the pass of Etchoee, were laid waste with fire and sword. For 
thirty days the ravages continued : the towns were given to the 
llames, the corn-fields mg,de desolate, and the heart of that once 
proud nation of aborigines broken forever. On his return from this 

251 



252 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

expedition, Moultrie retired into private life ; but when the tempest 
of the Revolution began to gather, he oifered himself to the service 
of his country. The citizens of South Carolina, entering at once, 
and enthusiastically, into the measures of resistance proposed by 
Massachusetts and the other colonies, summoned a provincial Con- 
gress, which met at Charleston, on the 11th of January, 1775. In 
this body the boldest sentiments were encouraged, and the associa- 
tion recommended by the general Congress, warmly subscribed. 
Moultrie was an active member of the provincial Congress. 

When the news of the battle of Lexington reached Charleston, 
South Carolina rose in commotion. The provincial Congress, which 
had adjourned, immediately re-assembled. Two regiments of foot 
and one of horse were ordered to be raised ; measures were taken 
to procure powder ; and every preparation made for the war which 
was now seen to be inevitable. Moultrie was offered, and accepted 
the command of one of the regiments of foot. He soon proved him- 
self a prudent, but active officer. The intrigues of the tories, espe- 
cially in the district of Ninety-six, where they assumed arms in large 
numbers, first gave active employment to the patriots of South Caro- 
lina ; but a danger, of a more vital character, speedily threatened 
them. This was the invasion of their state by the British, a project 
which had long been entertained by the royal Generals. To provide 
in time for defeating it, Congress had despatched General Lee to the 
south. It was not until the beginning of the summer of 1776, how- 
ever, that the enemy's armament set sail from New York, consisting 
of a large fleet of transports with a competent land force, commanded 
by Sir Henry Clinton, and attended by a squadron of nine men-of- 
war, led by Sir Peter Parker. On the arrival of this expedition oif 
the coast, all was terror and confusion among the South Carolinians. 
Energetic measures were at once adopted to repel the attack. 

To defend their capital the inhabitants had constructed on Sulli- 
van's Island, near the entrance of their harbor, and about four miles 
from the city, a rude fort of palmetto logs, the command of which 
was given to Col. Moultrie. Never, perhaps, was a more inartificial 
defence relied on in so great an emergency. The form of the fort 
was square, with a bastion at each angle ; it was built of logs laid 
on each other in parallel rows, at adistance of sixteen feet apart. Other 
logs were bound together at frequent intervals with timber dove- 
tailed and bolted into them. The spaces between were filled up with 
sand. The merlons were faced with palmetto logs. All the indus- 
try of the Carolinians, however, was insufficient to complete the fort 
hi time ; and when the British fleet entered the harbor, the defences 



WILLIAM MOULTRIE. 253 

consisted of little more than a single front facing the water. The 
force of Col. Moultrie was four hundred and thirty-five, rank and 
file ; his armament consisted of nine French twenty -sixes, fourteen 
English eighteens, nine twelve and seven nine pounders. Finding 
the fort could be easily enfiladed, Gen. Lee advised abandoning it ; 
but the Governor refused, telling Moultrie to keep his post, until he 
himself ordered the retreat. Moultrie, on his part required no urging 
to adopt this more heroic course. A spectator happening to say, that 
in half an hour the enemy would knock the fort to pieces, "Then," 
replied Moultrie, undauntedly, " we will lie behind the ruins, and 
prevent their men from landing." Lee with many fears left the Island, 
and repairing to his camp on the main land, prepared to cover the 
retreat of the garrison, which he considered inevitable. 

There was, perhaps, more of bravado than of sound military pol- 
icy in attacking this fort at all, since the English fleet might easily 
have run the gauntlet of it, as was done a few years later. But 
Fort Moultrie was destined to be to the navy what Bunker Hill had 
been to the Army. It was in consequence of excess of scorn for 
his enemy, that Sir Peter Parker, disdaining to leave such a place in 
his rear, resolved on its total demolition. He had no doubt but that, 
in an hour at the utmost, he could make the unpractised Carolinians 
glad to sue for peace on any terms. Accordingly, on the 2Sth of 
June, 1776, he entered the harbor, in all the parade of his proud 
ships, nine in number, and drawing up abreast the fort, let go his 
anchors with springs upon the cables, and began a furious cannonade. 
Meanwhile, terror reigned in Charleston. As the sound of the first 
gun went booming over the waters towards the town, the trembling 
inhabitants, who had been crowding the wharves and lining the 
house-tops since early morning, turned pale with ominous forebodings. 
Nor were the feelings of the defenders of the fort less anxious. Look- 
ing off, over the low Island intervening between them and the city, 
they could see the gleaming walls of their distant homes; and their 
imaginations conjured up the picture of those dear habitations given 
to the flames, as another Charlestown had been, twelve months before, 
and the still dearer wives that inhabited them, cast houseless upon 
the world. As they turned from this spectacle, and watched the 
haughty approach of the enemy, his every motion betraying confi 
dence of success, their eyes kindled with indignant feelings, and they 
silently swore to make good the words of their leader, by perishing, 
if need were, under the ruins of the fort. 

One by one the British men-of-war gallantly approached the 
stations assigned them, Sir Peter Parker, in the Bristol, leading the 

w 



254 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

van. The Experiment, another fifty gun ship, came close after, 
and both dropped their anchors in succession directly abreast the fort. 
The other frigates followed, and ranged themselves as supports. The 
remaining vessels were still working up to their stations, when the 
first gun was fired, and instantly the battle begun. The quantity of 
powder on the Island being small, five thousand pounds in all, 
there was an absolute necessity that there should be no waste. Ac- 
cordingly, the field officers pointed the pieces in person, and the 
words "look to the Commodore — look to the two-deckers !" passed 
along the line. The conflict soon grew terrific. The balls whistled 
above the heads of the defenders, and bombs fell thick and fast 
within the fort ; yet, in the excitement of the moment, the men seem- 
ed totally unconscious of danger. The fight deepened. Occa- 
sionally a shot from one of the cannon, striking the hull of the flag 
ship, would send the splinters flying into the air ; and then a loud 
huzza would burst from those who worked the guns ; but, except in 
instances like this, the patriots fought in stern and solemn silence. 
Once, when it was seen that the three men-of-war working up to 
join the conflict, had become entangled among the shoals, and would 
not probably be enabled to join in the fight, a general and prolonged 
cheer went down the line, and taken up a second and third time, 
rose, like an exulting strain, over all the uproar of the battle. 

The incessant cannonade soon darkened the prospect, the smoke 
lying packed along the surface of the water ; while a thousand fiery 
tongues, as from some hundred headed monster, shot out inces- 
santly, and licking the air a moment, were gone forever. Occasionally 
this thick, cloudy veil concealed all but the spars of the enemy from 
sight, and then the tall masts seemed rising, by some potent spell, 
out of nothing ; occasionally the terrific explosions would rend and 
tear asunder the curtain, and, for an instant, the black hulls would 
loom out threateningly, and then disappear. The roar of three hun- 
dred guns shook the Island and fort unremittingly : the water that 
washed the sand beach, gasped with a quick ebb and flow, under 
the concussions. Higher and higher, the sun mounted to the zenith, 
yet still the battle continued. The heat was excessive ; but casting 
aside their coats, the men breathed themselves a minute, and return- 
ed to the fight. The city was now hidden from view, by low banks 
of smoke, which extending right and left along the water, bounded 
the horizon on two sides. Yet the defenders of the fort still thought 
of the thousands anxiously watching them from Charleston, or of the 
wives and mothers, trembling at every explosion for the lives of 
those they loved. One of their number soon fell mortally wounded. 



WILLIAM MOULTRIE. 255 

Gasping and in agony, he was carried by. " Do not give up," he 
had still strength to say ; " you are fighting for hberty and country." 
Who tliat heard these words could think of surrender ? 

Noon came and went, and still the awful struggle continued. 
Suddenly a shot struck the flag-staff, and the banner, which had 
waved in that lurid atmosphere all day, proudly overhead, fell on 
the beach outside the fort. For a moment there was a pause, as if 
at a presage of disaster. Then a soldier, the brave and immortal 
Serjeant Jasper, sprang upon the parapet, leaped down to the beach, 
and passing along nearly the whole front of the fort, exposed to the 
full fire of the enemy, deliberately cut off the bunting from the shat- 
tered mast, called for a sponge stafi' to be thrown to him, and tying 
the flag to this, clambered up the ramparts and replaced the banner, 
amid the cheers of his companions. Far away, in the city, there 
had been those who saw, through their telescopes, the fall of that 
flag ; and, as the news went around, a chill of horror froze every 
heart, for it was thought the place had surrendered. But soon a 
slight staff was seen uplifted at one of the angles : it bore, clinging 
to it, something like bunting : the breeze struck it, the bundle 
unrolled, it was the flag of America ! Hope danced again through 
every heart. Some burst into tears ; some laughed hysterically ; 
some gave way to outcries and huzzas of delight. As the hours 
wore on, however, new causes for apprehension arose. The fire of 
the fort was perceived to slacken. Could it be that its brave defend- 
ers, after such a glorious struggle, had at last given in ? Again 
hope yielded to doubt, almost to despair ; the feeling was the more 
terrible from the late exhilaration. Already, in fancy, the enemy 
was seen approaching the city. Wives began to tremble for their 
husbands, who had rendered themselves conspicuous on the patriotic 
side : mothers clasped their infants, whose sires, they thought, had 
perished in the fight, and, in silent agony, prayed God to protect the 
fatherless. Thus passed an hour of the wildest anxiety and alarm. 
At last intelligence was brought that the fire had slackened only for 
want of powder ; that a supply had since been secured ; and that 
the cannonade would soon be resumed. In a short time these pre- 
dictions were verified, and the air again shook with distant concus- 
sions. Thus the afternoon passed. Sunset approached, yet the 
fight raged. Slowly the great luminary of day sank in the west, and 
twilight, cold and calm, threw its shadows across the waters ; yet 
still the fight raged. The stars came out, twinkling sharp and clear, 
in that half tropical sky : yet still the fight raged. The hum of the 
day had now subsided, and the cicada was heard trillhig its note 



256 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTIOX. 

on the night air : all was quiet and serene in the city : yet still the 
fight raged. The dull, heavy reports of the distant artillery boomed 
louder across the water, and the dark curtain of smoke that nearly 
concealed the ships and fort, grew luminous with incessant flashes. 
The fight still raged. At last the frequency of the discharges per- 
ceptibly lessened, and gradually, towards ten o'clock, ceased alto- 
gether. The ships of the enemy were now seen moving from their 
position, and making their way slowly, as if crippled and weary, out 
of the harbor : and, at that sight, most of the population, losing their 
anxiety, returned to their dwellings ; though crowds still lined 
some of the wharves, waiting for authentic messengers from the 
fight, and peering into the gathering gloom, to detect the approach 
of the first boat. 

The loss of the enemy had been excessive. The flag-ship, the 
Bristol, had forty-four men killed, and thirty wounded : the Experi- 
ment, another fifty gun ship, fifty-seven killed, and thirty wounded. 
All the ships were much cut up : the two deckers terribly so ; and 
one of the frigates, the Acteon, running aground, was burnt. The 
last shot fired from the fort entered the cabin of Sir Peter Parker's 
ship, cut down two young officers who were drinking there, and 
passing forwards, killed three sailors on the main deck, then passed 
out, and buried itself in the sea. The loss on the American side 
was inconsiderable : twelve killed, and about twenty-five womided. 
During the battle, the earnest zeal of the men was occasionally 
relieved by moments of merriment. A coat, having been thrown 
on the top of one of the merlons, was caught by a shot, and lodged 
in a tree, at which sight a general peal of laughter was heard. 
Moultrie sat coolly smoking during the conflict, occasionally taking 
his pipe from his mouth to issue an order. Once, while the 
battle was in progress, General Lee came ofl' to the island, but, 
finding everything so prosperous, soon returned to his camp. The 
supply of powder which was obtained during the conflict, and which 
enabled the patriots to resume the fight, was procured, part from a 
schooner in the harbor, part from the city. Unbounded enthusiasm, 
on the side of the inhabitants, hailed the gallant defenders of the 
fort after the victory : JVIoultrie received the thanks of Congress, was 
elevated to the rank of Brigadier-General, and was honored by 
having the post he had defended called after his name. A stand of 
colors was presented, by Mrs. Elliott, to the men of his regiment, 
with the belief, she said, " that they would stand by them, as long 
as they could wave in the air of liberty." It was in guarding these 
colors, that the brave Serjeant Jasper, subsequently, lost his life. 



WILLIAM MOULTRIE. 257 

The repulse from Fort Moultrie induced the British to abandon 
their designs on South Carolina ; and, for three years, that province 
was exempt from the ravages of war. At length, in 1779, after the 
successful invasion of Georgia, the royal army turned its attention 
to the neighboring province, and General Moultrie was once more 
called into active service. The campaign that followed may be 
described in a few words. At Beaufort, in South Carolina, whither 
the enemy had advanced, Moultrie met him in a drawn battle. Lin- 
coln, finding the militia refractory, in chagrin transferred their com- 
mand to Moultrie, and, at the head of two thousand troops, advanced 
towards Augusta. Meantime, General Ashe had been defeated at 
Brier's Creek. Prevost now crossed the Savannah, and, driving 
Moultrie before him, advanced, by rapid marches, on the capital of 
South Carolina ; the hero of this biography, powerless to check his 
victorious career, hurrying to save Charleston, as all that remained 
to be done in this extremity. Here Moultrie found every one in 
consternation. Even the surrender of the city was projected ; but 
happily, the firmness of Governor Rutledge averted this. The yeo- 
manry and citizens were aroused for the crisis, and the town placed 
in a state of defence. Prevost, advancing to the lines, was arrested 
by the American fire. He summoned the place, and received a 
defiance. The night was spent in dismal forebodings by the people 
of Charleston : only Moultrie and a few other bold spirits were cool 
and resolute. When morning dawned, the enemy had disappeared, 
the want of artillery, and the news of Lincoln's approach, having led 
him to abandon the siege, and begin a precipitate retreat to Georgia. 
The fortunes of war had again changed : the pursuers were now the 
pursued ; and, with high spirits, Moultrie found himself in the field 
once more on the aggressive. Prevost had retired to an island in 
the vicinity of Charleston, establishing himself in a strong fort at 
Stono Ferry. Here he was assailed by Lincoln, and afterwards by 
Moultrie in galleys ; both times with spirit, but without success. 
The British, finding their position growing more perilous, retreated 
along the chain of islands on the coast, until they reached Beaufort, 
and finally Savannah. Here they were followed by Lincoln, who esta- 
blished himself at Sheldon to watch his enemy. In September, the 
Count d'Estaing arrived, when the allied forces determined to storm 
Savannah. A melancholy and terrible repulse happened. Moul- 
trie, having long since returned to Charleston, was spared the morti- 
fication of sharing in this affair. 

Moultrie had received the commission of a Major-General, on the 
continental establishment, during the progress of this campaign, a 
33 w* 



258 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLrTION. 

high testimony to his military abihties, and proving the estimation 
in which he was held by Congress. In the succeeding year, on the 
third invasion of South Carolina, he rendered most important ser- 
vices; although he, like his superior, Lincoln, appears to have placed 
an undue importance on the preservation of the capital. This feeling, 
however, was shared by all classes in the Carolinas ; and, perhaps, 
it would have been impossible for any General to have resisted it. 
Moultrie was particularly active in the defence of Charleston. But 
it was in vain. Sir Henry Clinton, with his overwhelming force, put 
efiectual resistance out of the question, especially after the supplies, 
promised from the north, failed to arrive to assist the besieged. On 
the 12th of May, 1780, the capital of South Carolina surrendered; 
and the officers and men of the army of Lincoln became prisoners 
of war. Moultrie was one of the most unfortunate of the victims of 
this capitulation ; for he remained a prisoner, there being no officer 
to exchange for him, until the war had nearly terminated. He had 
consequently no further opportunity to distinguish himself; and was 
prevented from participating in the glorious struggle subsequently 
carried on by Marion, Lee, Sumpter and others ! Had he been free, 
judging from his past career, he Avould have been one of the most 
hitrepid in that sanguinary strife. 

The chief characteristic of Moultrie as a military leader was his 
coolness in moments of danger. No crisis, however terrible, could 
shake his self-possession. His smoking his pipe during the cannon- 
ade at Sullivan's Island ; his easy inditierence when the magazine 
in Charleston was expected to take fire and blow up the town ; and 
his invariable collectedness in every emergency, where great peril 
threatened him, establish his possession of this quality and in its 
highest perfection. This was his distinguishing trait. Besides this, 
he had prudence, sagacity, and the power of attaching to himself his 
troops. He does not, however, appear to have enjoyed either the 
headlong bravery of Wayne, or the comprehensive intellect of 
Greene. His courage was cliivalrous, but not terrible like Putnam's: 
his views just, but not eagle-eyed like those of Washington, The 
great event of his career was the defence of Fort Sullivan : and this 
will render his name immortal ! 

His public services, after the peace of 1783, were few and com- 
paratively unimportant. He was a man of warm affections, and 
generally beloved : his dependants worshipped him almost to adora- 
tion. He filled the office of Governor of his native state ; and died 
at Charleston, on the 27th day of September, 1805. 




LORD STIRLING 



ILLIAM Alexander, by courtesy 
^ called Lord Stirling, a Major-Ge- 
■; neral in the continental line, was 
•^ - born in the city of New York, in 
, the year 1726. He received as 
excellent an education as the 
country, at that time, could af- 
I ford, and Avas early distinguish- 
ed lor that mathematical ability 
which subsequently made him so 

ardent an admirer of science. 

When the French war broke out, 
he entered the army. He acted 
as Commissary, as Aid-de-camp, and finally as Secretary to Gover- 
nor Shirley. At the close of the contest he accompanied his patron 
to England, in order to prosecute his claims to a Scotch earldom of 
which he considered himself the rightful heir; but, from the want of 

259 




260 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

some link in the testimony necessary to establish his claim, failed in 
the suit. It is understood that the sums spent in this vain effort to 
secure a title, materially impaired his fortune. In America, how- 
ever, his claim was considered rightful, and he always bore the 
name of Lord Stirling in consequence. 

When the war of independence began, the ability, position and 
wealth of Lord Stirling rendered his influence of weight ; and ena- 
bled him to obtain a corresponding rank in the continental line. He 
was immediately appointed a Colonel. During the siege of Boston 
he was stationed at New York. Here he found opportunity to dis- 
play the natural boldness and gallantry of his disposition. Fitting 
out a pilot-boat and some smaller craft, and availing himself of the 
night to escape the Asia man-of-war which then lay in the har- 
bor, he put to sea and succeeded in capturing an English transport, 
laden with valuable stores for the army in Boston. 

The personal appearance of Stirling was remarkably fine. His 
face was dignified ; his figure tall but somewhat portly ; and his man- 
ners elegant, yet soldierly. As a General he was brave to rashness. 
His military abilities were of that kind, indeed, that rendered it more 
prudent to keep him under the eye of a Commander-in-chief; in this 
respect he resembled Putnam and others, who were more valuable 
as executive officers than when acting on their own responsibility. 
It was at Monmouth and Long Island that he won his chief laurels. 
At Monmouth, when the battle hung upon a thread, when Lee was 
retreating after having made his last stand, and Clinton was pouring 
down his victorious legions on Washington's left wing, he placed 
himself at the head of Lieutenant Carrington's artillery, and dashing 
at full gallop to the brow of an elevation that commanded the advanc- 
ing columns of the enemy, hastily unlimbered the guns and opened 
so terrible a fire, that the assailants wavered, and finally fell back. 
At Long Island he held command of the right wing. As he played 
a conspicuous part here, we shall describe the battle at some length. 

Brooklyn stands on a knob of land as it were, formed by the in- 
dentations of Wallabout and Gouverneur's bays, which, at the dis- 
tance of a mile and a half from the heights, approaching each other, 
reduce its width one half. Across this isthmus, the ground of which 
is elevated, a line of defences was drawn, commanding all the ap- 
proaches from the interior, and from the northern and southern 
shores of the island. In the rear, the works were protected by bat- 
teries on Governor's Island and Red Hook, and by other batteries on 
the East river, which kept open the communication with the main 
army in New York. In front, these roads radiated from the lines, 



LORD STIRLING. 261 

like spokes from the hub of a wheel, and crossed a range of wooded 
heights, nearly four miles distant, which, to carry out the simile, 
formed the felloe. Between these heights and the lines the battle 
was fought. The two roads nearest the Narrows were defended pro- 
perly, but the upper one was left with an insufficient guard ; here 
Clinton crossed undetected, and pouring down into the plain beyond, 
while his colleagues made a feint of forcing the two other passes, had 
nearly cut off the Americans from their lines, when happily his ap- 
proach was discovered, and a portion, after a desperate encounter, 
succeeded in gaining their entrenchments. 

Stirling, on this fatal day, directed the right wing, which number- 
ed about two-thirds of those engaged in the battle. The Comman- 
der-in-chief outside the lines was Sullivan. Putnam, the superior of 
all, remained within the redoubts. He had been sent to supersede 
Greene, when the latter was suddenly taken ill. Putnam first went 
over to Brooklyn on Sunday, the 25th of August, 1776, and the 
battle was fought two days after ; hence the ignorance at head- 
quarters respecting the ground, and the neglect properly to fortify 
the upper pass. The general impression was that the English would 
attempt to force a passage across the hills at the lower road ; and it 
was in consequence of this that Stirling's command preponderated 
so greatly over that of Sullivan. 

Having given this general outline of the battle, let us proceed to 
speak more in detail. The two armies were separated by a range 
of wooded hills, which were impassable for artillery and cavalry, 
except by the three principal roads. The chief one of these ran, in 
nearly a straight line from Flatbush to the American entrenchments, 
four miles distant. Another road, conducting northwardly of this, 
now called the Clove road, led through a second pass to Bedford vil- 
lage in the plain. A more circuitous route took its way through a 
pass on the north, and joined the road from Jamaica to Bedford. 
There was another pass, close to the Narrows, running from New 
Utrecht over the hills into the plain. All these roads met in the plain 
about half a mile without the lines. The latter pass, as we have 
said, was defended by Stirling, with much the largest portion of the 
American army. The pass, leading across from Flatbush, was held 
by Sullivan, with a strong force and a redoubt. At that on the Clove 
road, were two regiments under Colonels Williams and Miles. The 
pass on the Jamaica road was guarded only by a few light 
volunteers. It was by this that Clinton crossed, his sagacity foresee- 
ing that the American defences would be weaker here than at either 
of the other points. 



S62 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. 

The British landed at the ferry near the Narrows, on the 22nd, and 
marched through Utrecht and Gravesend to Flatbush, back of which 
last place they established their principal encampment, near the vil- 
lage of Flatbush. Their centre, composed of Hessians, lay in front 
at Flatbush, in command of General De Heister ; while the left 
wing, under General Grant, extended to the place of landing. The 
army remained inactive until the evening of the 26th, when it being 
found that the Americans had guarded all the most westerly 
passes, Clinton moved in the direction of the Jamaica pass, his scouts 
having brought him intelligence, as he expected, of the small force 
in that quarter. He reached it unperceived before day-break, and 
cautiously pushing forward, surprised and captured the party sta- 
tioned there. Having thus secured his enemy from receiving notice 
of his approach, he sutiered his men to repose for awhile from the 
fatigues of their march. The whole division accordingly rested on 
their arms. It was a clear, starlight night, and the country in the 
plain below was just visible through the hazy light. The men strained 
their eyes across it in search of the distant heights of Brooklyn and 
the spires of New York beyond, and continued watching for that 
haven of their hopes until the stars paled, the dawn approached, and 
the morning sunbeams shot along the woodland and cultivated fields 
below. Then the order to march was given, and the troops san- 
guine of victory, crossed the heights and poured down into the plain. 

Meanwhile, immediately after day-light, De Heister began a furi- 
ous cannonade on Sullivan, in order to direct the attention of the 
American General from what was passing on his extreme left. De 
Heister did not, however, advance from Flatbush until he had 
received intelligence of Clinton's successful passage ; but when, at 
half past eight, he learned that his colleague had reached Bedford 
and thrown forward a detachment in Sullivan's rear, he charged the 
American redoubt in earnest. The dark masses of De Heister were 
just beginning to unwind themselves, like some glittering anaconda, 
from the village of Flatbush, when a scout dashed, all in a foam, into 
the camp of Sullivan, and announced that Clinton was in the rear. 
In this terrible crisis, surprised, circumvented, defeated already, the 
presence of mind of Sullivan did not desert him. He saw that 
but one hope remained to him, that of gaining the lines at Brooklyn 
before his enemy. He accordingly ordered the troops to fall back, 
through the woods, by regiments. In so doing they encountered the 
British front. At the same instant, De Heister, advancing from Flat- 
bush, made a furious assault on that side. The coolness of Sullivan 
unfortunately was not shared by his men. Struck with panic at hear- 



LORD STIRLING, 263 

ing the firing in their rear, and thinking only of making good their 
escape, they coukl not be induced even to wait the first onset of the 
Hessians, In vain Sullivan rode among them, appealing to their 
patriotism ; in vain he reminded them of Lexington and Bunker 
Hill ; in vain he rushed into the most exposed situations to stimulate 
them by his personal example ; all discipline was lost, all decency 
disregarded ; terrified they turned and fled, the Hessians thundering 
in pursuit, and the troops of Clinton on their flank, hastening, with 
loud cheers, to cut off" the fugitives. 

As a contrast to this shameful conduct, the little band of men in 
the pass on the Clove road, behaved with a heroism that should ren- 
der their names immortal. The force, at this point, was composed 
of a regiment under Colonel Williams, and another of Pennsylvania 
riflemen under Colonel Miles, As soon as De Heister had put the 
personal command of Sullivan to the rout, he detached a portion of 
his Hessians against these two regiments. Overpowered by num- 
bers, after a short, but gallant resistance, the Pennsylvanians were 
driven back into the woods. At the same time, Clinton, moving to 
intercept those in retreat along the road from Flatbush, arrived in the 
rear of these brave men. Now ensued one of those desperate 
struggles, in which courage seeks to make up for want of numbers. 
Hemmed in on front and rear ; now driven by the British on the 
Hessians, and now on the Hessians by the British, that little band 
like a lion turning every way to meet its hunters, charged incessantly 
on the foe. Hurled back from the assault, they returned more furi- 
ous to the onset. Long and heroically they thus struggled. During 
the contest they were joined by the remnant of Sullivan's command, 
with himself at its head, and their efforts now grew more desper- 
ate than ever. Some forced their passage through the solid ranks 
of the enemy, and, fighting all the way, regained the lines at Brook- 
lyn. Some plunging into the woods, concealed themselves there 
until the action was over, and thus escaped. But the greater num- 
ber either died in the unavailing struggle, or exhausted by two hours 
of severe fighting, surrendered, at last, with their General. 

The battle was now over in this quarter. But it still raged 
towards the xlmerican right where Stirling commanded, and raged, 
if possible, with a fury greater than even around this heroic band ! 
Long before either De Heister or Clinton had crossed the wooded 
heights, at so early an hour indeed as midnight, General Grant, with 
the design of directing attention from Clinton's manoeuvre, advanced 
along the coast, with the left wing, driving in the light out-lying par- 
ties of the Americans. As this was the point where the main assault 



264 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

was expected, these parties were quite abundant, and intelligence of 
the advance was immediately communicated to Putnam. This was 
at three o'clock in the morning. Putnam instantly detached Stir- 
ling, with strong reinforcements, to repel this attack. Stirling reached 
the summit of the hill just before sunrise, his steps being hastened by 
the sounds of skirmishing in front. The first object that met his 
sight, as the beams of the morning sun illuminated the valley below, 
was the retiring troops who had been stationed to guard the pass, 
and who were now slowly falling back before superior numbers. 
Promptly uniting his fresh men to these wearied ones, lie drew up 
his whole division to defend the pass. In a few minutes the head of 
the enemy's column appeared in view ; but at sight of Stirling's 
imposing force, halted. The American General thought this the result 
of timidity on the part of the British, and would have descended into 
the plain to attack Grant, had not his orders restricted him to defend- 
ing the pass. He allowed a portion of his infantry, however, to 
skirmish with parties of the enemy thrown forward for that purpose, 
and meantime grew more and more impatient for the battle. To 
amuse his enemy Grant had opened, at once, a cannonade, which he 
continued with increasing fury as the day wore on. To this Stirling 
replied ; and soon the space between the armies was covered with 
wreaths of smoke which undulated with the morning breeze ; 
while the roar of the artillery continually shook the ground, boomed 
along the neighboring bay, and echoed far over the vallies of Staten 
Island. 

At last, through the heavy explosions of artillery, fainter sounds, 
borne on the wind, were distinguishable in the rear. Stirling listen- 
ed to them with an anxious heart, for they seemed to imply that an 
enemy had interposed between him and Putnam. At last, what he 
had foreboded, became no longer doubtful. The British were behind 
him. A retreat, with all possible despatch, on the lines at Brooklyn, 
was his sole resource. Only one route by which this could be effected 
lay open to him ; this was to cross IN [ill Creek below the swamp ; for 
to retire above, would bring him face to face with De Heister and 
Clinton. Cornwallis, however, anticipating this intended movement, 
now hastily pushed on to the ford, and, arriving there before Stir- 
ling, took his station at a house near the upper mills. It was below 
this point, fortunately, that Stirling had resolved to cross ; but in order 
to conceal the movement of his main body, he resolved to occupy 
the attention of Cornwallis by attacking hun with a portion of his 
force. Accordingly he selected six companies of Smallwood's Ma- 
ryland riflemen, in number about four hundred, and placing himself 



LOUD STIULIXG. 265 

ill person at their head, prepared to carry out this terrible diversion. 
A few words, by way of address, informed this httle band tliat tliey 
were to immolate themselves for their companions ; on which, with 
shouts of enthusiasm, they demanded to be led to the assault. In 
their first onset they were repulsed ; and, indeed, for several succes- 
sive ones. But speedily rallying, they charged again and again, 
until the enemy began finally to waver. Before the deadly fire of 
that courageous corps, the British ranks thirined rapidly. Seeing the 
foe betray signs of confusion, the brave riflemen, with Stirling wav- 
ing his sword at their head, advanced cheering, to a last assault ; and 
Cornwallis was on the very point of abandoning his post, when 
Grant, wheeling his whole division around an angle of the woods 
in their rear, suddenly appeared in view. To retreat was impossi- 
ble. The soldiers of Cornwallis so lately disheartened, took up the 
shout which, at this sight, died on the tongues of the Americans ; and 
with deafening huzzas, from front and rear, overpowering masses of 
the enemy poured down upon this isolated force. To struggle longer 
would have been a useless waste of blood. Stirling accordingly 
hung out a white handkerchief on the point of a bayonet, and with 
the remnant of his Spartan band surrendered. But he had gained 
his purpose. During the struggle the remainder of his troops, con- 
cealed by the woods and by the firing, made good their passage of 
the creek, and succeeded in safely reaching the lines at Brooklyn. 

The British were now masters of the last pass, and Grant, empty- 
ing his legions down into the plain, advanced to join De Heister and 
Clinton, when all three uniting, under the personal command of 
Howe, rolled onwards triumphantly to the American lines. Mean- 
time, within those defences, all was alarm and confusion. Parties 
of fugitives, sometimes in whole companies, sometimes in smaller 
fragments, now in good order, now totally disorganized, came 
hurrying across the plain, and flinging themselves, breathless, behind 
the entrenchments, communicated a portion of their own terror to 
those within. These were the more easily infected, because mostly 
militia ; for the regular troops had been placed outside to bear the 
brunt of the battle. In vain Putnam had despatched every man he 
could spare, in order to check the retreat : the recruits, as well as 
the fugitives, soon appeared, driving, pell-mell, before the advanced 
parties of the enemy. General Washington had hurried to Brook- 
lyn, as soon as the first cannon announced a battle ; and he 
now witnessed, with anguish indescribable, the rout of his choicest 
troops. His presence restored confidence among the officers; but 
with the common men, tlie panic still spread. Hour after hour had 
34 X 



266 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 







THE KETREAT AT LOSG ISLAN'D. 



passed, and yet neither Sullivan nor Stirling appeared, though many 
of their troops had come in, some so blackened with powder, and 
their standards so torn with shot, as to betray the hard fighting they 
had witnessed. At last hope for these brave commanders gave out ; 
for now the enemy darkened the whole space in front of the 
entrenchments : and as column after column marched up, their bur- 
nished muskets flashing in the light, and huzzas of triumph ringing 
along the line, the cry arose that the British were about to storm the 
encampment. Had Howe allowed his men to do so, in that moment 
of enthusiasm on their side, and depression on that of the Americans, 
he would, without doubt, have carried everything before him, and 
almost annihilated his enemy. Washington hastily made what ar- 
rangements he could to resist such an attack, which the increasing 
delay of Howe enabled him to perfect better than he had hoped. 
The day passed, however, without ajiy demonstration on the part of 
the enemy ; but it was not until night fell, and the lights of the 
British glittered along the eastern horizon, that the exhausted 
Americans felt secure. 



LORD STIRLING. 267 

This battle has been much and severely criticised ; but, after a 
candid examination, we can see no blame attaching to any one. 
Putnam himself was scarcely aware of the pass by Jamaica, nor had 
he, before the battle, had time to become at home in his position. 
If Greene had continued well, the result of the day might have 
been difterent. But, perhaps, the defeat of the Americans was 
providential ; for, if they had repulsed the enemy, and been induced 
in consequence to hold Long Island until the British had passed 
their ships up the North and East Rivers, the whole army, instead 
of a part, might, in the end, have fallen a sacritice. It is astonishing 
that Howe did not wait until he had done this, before he made his 
attack. As it was, the way was left open for Washington to retire. 
This he availed himself of on the night of the 2Sth, in that memorable 
retreat across the East River, which has always been regarded as 
one of the most brilliant in history. 

The night was dark and misty. The embarkation began in the 
evening. Nine thousand troops, a quantity of military stores, and 
a heavy train of artillery were to be transported across a sheet of 
water and landed in safety on the other side ; and this while an 
active and watchful enemy was posted so close to the American 
camp, that the neigh of a horse from the latter could almost be heard 
by the British sentinels. Yet neither the heavy rumbling of the 
artillery wagons, nor the other unavoidable noises of a retreat, 
warned the enemy of Washington's movement. The Commander- 
in-chief remained at the ferry through the whole night, personally 
superintending the embarkation. The high honor of forming the 
covering party was, on this occasion, entrusted to the troops of the 
middle states, as a reward for the gallantry they had shewn in the 
late action. By daybreak all the troops had crossed. Some heavy 
cannon had to be abandoned ; but every thing else was brought off 
in safety. 

The events of Stirling's life, after the battle of Long Island, may 
be told in few words. He remained a prisoner until exchanged for 
the Governor of Florida, and, joining the army in 1777, was present 
at the battles of Brandywine and Germantown, in the last of which 
encounters he commanded the reserve. His next engagement was 
that of Monmouth; of his conduct on which occasion we have 
already spoken. In 1780, with a force of twenty-five hundred men, 
he was sent on an expedition against Staten Island ; but the enemy 
having received notice of the intended attack, the affair proved 
abortive. In 17S1, he took command of the northern army, and 
remained at Albany until the next season, when he removed to 



26S 



THE HEKOES OP THE REVOLUTION. 



Philadelphia. When spring opened, however, he again went to 
Albany and resnined command of the northern troops. His life was 
now drawing to a close. The following year, in 1783, he fell a vic- 
tim to the gout. 

Lord Stirling was devotedly attached to Washington ; and it was 
through him that the Conway cabal was brought to light. In his 
nature he was frank and generous. He despised trickery, and 
abhorred dissimulation. Perhaps, few men in the army were his 
equals in learning. He always signed himself Stirling, instead of 
Alexander, using his title, and not his family name. 





BATTLE OF PRINCETON. 



HUGH MERCER. 



services 



HAT Hugh Mercer, a Brigadier- 
General in the continental line, was 
second to few in the Revolution, for 
talents, education, and patriotism, 
is now universally admitted. The 
opening of the Avar of indepen- 
dence found him engaged in a 
lucrative medical practice, which 
he immediately abandoned to enter 
the army, declaring his willingness 
to serve in any rank or station. — 
This absence of all selfish motives 
contiimed with him to the end of his 
career. He never joined those who 
complained of Congress for promo- 
tions that seemed to shght their own 
but, on one of those occasions, only a day or two before 

X* 269 




270 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

his death, reproved his companions in these words : " We are not 
engaa^ed in a war of ambition, gentlemen," he said, " if we were, I 
should not be here. Every man should be content to serve in that 
station where he can be most useful. For my part I have but one 
object in view, and that is the success of the cause. God can wit- 
ness how cheerfully I would lay down my life to secure it !" 

Mercer was born in Scotland, though in what year has never been 
satisfactorily ascertained. He was old enough, however, to join 
Charles Edward, in that Prince's romantic enterprise to regain the 
crown of the Stuarts, in 1745; and, at the battle of Culloden, acted 
as an assistant Surgeon. Flying from a disastrous field, he succeeded 
in escaping the pursuit of the sanguinary Duke of Cumberland, and, 
with a number of his fellow soldiers, sought a refuge in the then 
wilds of America. He settled at Fredericksburg, Virginia, where he 
married and became distinguished as a physician. His martial pro- 
pensities, however, still clung to him, and in the Indian war of 1755, 
he served as a Captain mider Washington. During this campaign 
he made one of those miraculous escapes which have passed into 
popular traditions. Wounded in a sharp engagement, and separated 
from his company, he was flying before the merciless savages, when 
faintness from loss of blood seizing him, he hid himself in the hollow 
of a large tree. In a moment the Indians appeared in sight, and 
even searched around the trunk. Mercer scarcely breathed, so ter- 
rible was his suspense ! At last the savages passed on, and when 
sufficient time had elapsed to render it prudent, he emerged from his 
retreat and began a painful march of more than a hundred miles to 
the abodes of civilization. During the journey he supported himself 
on roots and on the body of a rattlesnake, which crossed his path, 
and which he killed. Finally he reached Fort Cumberland in safety, 
though haggard in looks, and weak from his wound and sufferings. 
For his gallantry in destroying the Indian settlement at Kittanning, 
in Pennsylvania, during this war, the corporation of Philadelphia 
presented him a medal. 

It may, at first, appear surprising that a Scottish Jacobite, the as- 
serter and defender of hereditary right, should become an American 
republican. But the exiles for the cause of Stuart had suffered so 
much from the oppressions of England, that their sympathies were 
at once aroused in behalf of others persecuted like themselves. More- 
over, the followers of Charles Edward were prompted, in undertak- 
ing his cause, more by a sentiment of generous loyalty than by any 
conviction of the superior advantages to be derived from his govern- 
ment ; hence, those Jacobite predilections being more a feeling than 



HUGH MERCER. 271 

a principle, experienced nothing repugnant, but everything that was 
noble, in adopting the side of men fighting for their hearths and lib- 
erty. It was thus, no doubt, that Mercer reasoned, or rather felt. 
Besides, he had formed an intimate friendship for Washington', and 
naturally inclined to adopt the course his old commander had taken 
up. Certain it is that, when the war of independence began, no 
man was more prompt to render his services in behalf of freedom, 
or, as we have seen, with less of selfishness in the offer. Forever 
exiled from his native shores ; never more to behold her brown heaths, 
her hoary glens, or her misty mountains, America was now his coun- 
try, and he prepared to shed his blood for her as freely and disinter- 
estedly as when he had made a last stand for his ancient line of 
Princes, on the wild moor of CuUoden. 

In 1775, when the minute-men ofVirginia began to marshal, Mercer 
was in command of three regiments of their number. In the beginning 
of the next year, having been appointed a Colonel of the state militia, 
he was of great service in organizing and disciplining these rude re- 
cruits. Many of the troops, especially those from beyond the mountains, 
were wild and turbulent to the last degree, spurning every restraint 
of military rule. On one occasion, a company of these men 
broke out into open mutiny, seized the camp, and threatened with 
instant death any officer who should interfere with their lawless mea- 
sures. Mercer no sooner heard of the disturbance than he hurried 
to the scene, regardless of the entreaties of his friends, who looked on 
him as going to certain destruction. Arriving at the camp, he or- 
dered all the troops to be drawn up for a general parade, when he 
directed the offending company to be disarmed in the presence of the 
others. Intimidated by his bold front, and finding the obedient 
troops far the most numerous, the mutineers suffered themselves to 
be stripped of their weapons without resistance. The ringleaders 
having been placed under a strong guard, Mercer proceeded to ad- 
dress the guilty company. He spoke in eloquent and forcible terms, 
appealing to their better feelings in the capacity of citizens ; then, 
changing his tone, he reminded them that, while soldiers, the penalty 
of death would be their certain fate, if mutineers. The result of this 
bold, yet judicious conduct, was that all symptoms of disorder van- 
ished from that hour. The ringleaders, after an imprisonment of a 
few days, were liberated ; and the company became one of the most 
obedient and effective in the army. 

The reputation of Mercer as a veteran officer was not confined to 
his adopted state; and, in 1776, Congress, justly estimating his mer- 
its, appointed him a Brigadier-General. He immediately repaired to 



272 THE HEROES of the revolution. 

tlie camp of Washington, who welcomed his old associate with de- 
light. The crisis was critical. It was the hour when the liberties of 
America, after running a short and dazzling career, seemed about to 
expire forever, like those false stars, which shooting athwart the tem- 
pest, coruscate a moment and disappear. The blaze of enthusiasm 
which had illumhiated Lexington and Bunker Hill, had vanished 
before tlie clouds that gathered blacker and blacker around Long 
Island, Fort Washington, and the retreat through the Jerseys. Hope 
almost despaired, as the gloom deepened at the prospect, while the 
land rocked to its utmost shores, as if foreboding earthquake and utter 
dissolution. 

Throughout that disastrous period, Mercer was one of those who, 
never for a moment, was appalled. No fear of sacrificing his family, 
of endangering his life, or of leaving a name stigmatised by that op- 
probious epithet which the successful tyrant bestows on 'the unsuc- 
cessful rebel, could make him regret the part he had taken. In defeat 
and doubt he was still the same bold, resolute, and efficient officer, 
as in victory and success. When, after the battle of Assunpink, it was 
resolved, in the celebrated midnight consultation at the tent of St. 
Clair, to march on Princeton, and afterwards, if possible, on Bruns- 
wick, to Mercer was committed the important command of the ad- 
vanced guard. The little army that now began its march was but 
the skeleton of what it had been but a few months before. The cel- 
ebrated regiment of Smallwood, composed of the flower of the Ma- 
ryland youth, which had gone into battle at Long Island over a 
thousand strong, was reduced to sixty men ; and indeed, nearly the 
whole of Washington's force was composed of the Pennsylvania 
militia and volunteers, to whom belongs, in a great measure, the 
lienor of saving the country in that crisis. The night was dark, 
calm, and cold,^nd as the army left their burning watch fires and 
plunged into the gloom, many a heart beat uneasily for the success 
of Washington's bold stratagem. The troops took the lower road for 
Sandtown, and about day-break reached Stony Brook, at the distance 
of rather more than a mile and a quarter from the college at Prince- 
ton. A brigade of the enemy was known to be in the town, and to 
intercept its retreat, as well as to cover his own rear from Cornwal- 
lis, Washington despatched General Mercer, with a detachment of 
three hundred and fifty men, along the brook, to seize the bridge on 
the old Trenton road. It happened that Lieutenant-Colonel Maw- 
hood, at the head of the 17th British regiment, had just crossed this 
bridge on his way to join Cornwallis, but discovering the approach 
of the Americans, he retraced his steps and hastened to seize a rising 



HUGH MERCER. 273 

ground, not quite five hundred yards distant. Mercer, on his part, 
pressed forward as eagerly to gain the elevation first ; and, availing 
himself of a diagonal course through an orchard, anticipated the 
enemy by about forty paces. 

The sun had just risen, and the hoar frost bespangled the twigs, 
the blades of grass, every thing around ; never, perhaps, was there 
a more lovely scene than the one so soon to be darkened by the 
smoke of blood and ensanguined by mortal strife. Advancing to a 
worm-fence, Mercer ranged his men along it and ordered them to 
fire. The British replied, and instantly charged. It was a gallant 
sight, as even their adversaries confess, to see those splendid veter- 
ans advancing through the smoke, their arms glistening, their bayo- 
nets in an unbroken line, and their tramp as steady as on a parade. 
The enemy were comparatively fresh; the Americans were exhausted 
by eighteen hours of fighting and marching, and, moreover, were 
only armed with rifles ; yet they stood until the third fire, when see- 
ing the bayonets of the British bristling close at hand, they turned 
and fled. The ardent and heroic soul of Mercer could not endure 
this spectacle. At first he tried to rally his men, but this was impos- 
sible ; and in a few seconds he found himself deserted in the rear. 
Disdaining to fly, he turned on the foe. At this instant a blow 
from a musket brought him to the ground. He was immediately 
surrounded by the British soldiery who bayoneted him as he lay ; 
but, like a wounded lion, defiant to the last, Mercer continued to 

lunge at his enemies. " Call for quarters, you d d rebel," and "we 

have got the rebel General," were the cries of the soldiery in this 
melee, each word being accompanied by a new bayonet stroke. But 
still the wounded man fought on, his indignation repelling in words 
the charge of rebellion. Alone, amid his many foes, he maintained 
the unequal strife ! At last, fainting from loss of blood, he sank back, 
to all appearance dead. With an oath at his heroic obstinacy, and, 
perhaps, a last thrust of the bayonet, his assailants now left him, and 
hurried to regain their companions engaged in pursuit of the flying 
foe. 

At the first sound of the firing, Washington directed the Penn- 
sylvania militia to advance, with two pieces of artillery to Mercer's 
support. He headed this detachment in person. As he hurried 
forward, his heart was wrung to behold Mercer's troops flying 
towards him. The Pennsylvania militia, too, showed signs of 
wavering, but Washington dashed into their midst, and, seizing the 
colors, 'galloped ahead, waving them aloft, and calling on the fugi- 
tives to rally and follow him to meet the foe. His voice did not 
35 



274 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

fall on unheeding ears. There was a look of momentary terror at 
the enemy, a glance of enthusiasm at their leader, and then, with a 
cheer, they halted, formed into line again, and levelled their arms. 
At this show of resistance, the British column stopped, like a well- 
trained courser checked in full career, the order to dress the line was 
distinctly heard, and a long line of levelled muskets flashed back the 
morning sunbeams. There was a deathless pause. The Com- 
mander-in-chief still stood in the fore-ground, half way between the 
two armies, his tall form conspicuous against the opposite horizon. 
His death seemed inevitable. The pause was but for a second. 
The hoarse command to fire echoed from the British line, and the 
whole of that glittering front was a sheet of flame ; while, at the 
same moment, the two field-pieces of their adversaries hurled on the 
royal flank their tempests of grape. Now foUowed an agony of 
suspense in the American ranks, until the smoke, lifting from the 
intervening space, disclosed the form of their leader, still towering 
unhurt ; at this a shout burst from the militia, and, with one common 
impulse of enthusiasm, they advanced to the charge. But the 
enemy, satisfied with his reception, gave way, leaving his artillery 
behind him. The cheers of victory now redoubled along the line. 
Washington, around whom his friends had pressed to grasp his 
hand, which some did with tears, yielded, an instant, to the aflec- 
tionate pressure, and then exclaimed, with a brightening face, 
"Away, and bring up the troops — the day is our own ! " 

The Americans now continued their march towards Princeton, 
where the 55th and 40th regiments of the enemy were posted. 
These made some resistance at a deep ravine, not far south of the 
village, and also at the college, in which they took refuge at the 
approach of the victors. The struggle here, however, was soon 
over. In this battle about one hundred of the British were killed, 
and nearly three hundred taken prisoners. On the part of the 
Americans the loss was slight, at least in numbers. But several valu- 
able ofilcers fell. In no battle during the war, indeed, did so many 
men of talents and usefulness lose their lives. Colonels Potter and 
Haslet, Major Anthony Morris, and Captains Fleming, Neal, and 
Shippen, all officers of ability, were among tiie slain in this sanguin- 
ary struggle. It was in the first part of the action, which did not 
occupy twenty minutes, that most of this mortality occurred. 

After the retreat of the enemy, the wounded Mercer was found 
on the field, and assisted into a house, which stood a few rods from 
the place where he fell. The first information that Washington 
received respecting his old companion in arms, was that he had 



HUGH MERCER. 275 

perished on the field ; and a false story was propagated through the 
army, which is still perpetuated in many popular works, that he had 
been bayonetted after his surrender. On the march to Morristown, 
however, the Commander-in-chief, hearing that Mercer survived, 
deputed Major George Lewis, his own nephew, with a flag and 
letter to Lord Cornwallis, requesting that the bearer might be 
allowed to remain with the wounded General, and tend him during 
his illness. Cornwallis, who was rarely wanting in courtesy, not 
only acceded to this, but sent his own surgeon to wait on the suf- 
ferer. This gentleman, at first, held out hopes to his patient, that 
the wounds, though many and severe, would not be mortal. But 
Mercer, who had been an army-surgeon himself, shook his head 
with a faint smile, and addressing young Lewis, said, " Raise my right 
arm, George, and. this gentleman will then discern the smallest of 
my wounds, but which will prove the most fatal. Yes, sir, that is 
a fellow that will soon do my business." His words proved pro- 
phetic : he languished until the 12th, and then expired. He died 
far from his family, and in the house of a stranger ; yet one thought 
cheered him to the last, it was that he perished in the cause of 
freedom ! 

The death bed of Mercer was attended by two females, of the 
society of Friends, who, like messengers from heaven, smoothed his 
pillow and cheered his declining hours. They inhabited the house 
to which he was carried, and refusing to fly during the battle, were 
there when he was brought, wounded and dying, to the threshold. 
History has scarcely done justice to the women of the Revolution. 
Those whose relatives were embarked in the contest were the prey 
of constant anxieties, and had to endure privations such as we would 
now shudder even to record. Death continually removed some bro- 
ther, or parent, or husband. The few who were restrained by religious 
scruples from an active participation in the war, like the peaceful 
females who watched by Mercer's dying bed, still had their warmest 
sympathies enlisted for a suffering country, and were forced, in com- 
mon with others, to submit to sacrifices, the result of the disordered 
condition of aff"airs. The women of the Revolution were more gene- 
rally true to the cause of freedom than were the other sex. They 
endured in silence and without complaint. Let us pay this tardy 
tribute to the patriotism of those immortal females ! 

Nearly seventy years after Mercer's death, his heroism and untimely 
fate were brought vividly before the minds of the present generation, 
by a ceremony as impressive as it was merited. We allude to the 
removal of his remains from Christ church grave-yard, in Philadel- 



276 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



phia, to the cemetery on Laurel Hill, where a monument had been 
prepared for them. The coffin, covered with a pall, was borne 
through the streets of Philadelphia, in military procession, and with 
the wail of martial music. The side-walks were lined with unco- 
vered spectators, one common sentiment of awe and reverence per- 
vading the vast crowd, as it thus stood face to face, as it were, with 
a martyr of the Revolution ! 




'''-'^^'\-'--:^^^^&^^/3 J/V .' 




Ka^j].®[iiRio/giKir[}a[y)!E gYcgiLAQKc 



.J^^'Tf^. 



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DEATH OF GE-VKRAI. WOLFE. 



ARTHUR ST. CLAIR. 




N military affairs, to be unfortunate is almost as 
criminal as to be incapable. Arthur St. Clair is an 
example in point. From first to last a fatality ap- 
,peared to follow all his undertakings, and, though 
often engaged, he never achieved a victory. It 
was not owing to a total want of ability that he 
miscarried so universally; for he was brave, careful, 
self-collected, and possessed the advantage of con- 
siderable military experience. But, having failed once or twice, the 
reputation of being unlucky ever after attended him ; and this senti 
ment dampened the confidence of his soldiers, even if it had no 
effect on himself. The recollection of past glory is a spur to both 
leader and army ; while the consciousness of former defeats is always 
disheartening. But there was, besides this, a cause for St. Clair's 
ill-success, existing in his slavish adherence to rules, and in his want 

Y 277 



278 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

of original and comprehensive grasp of mind. In short, he had 
talent, but no genius; could follow, but was not fit to lead. At 
Princeton and Yorktown, where he was under the eye of Washing- 
ton, he acquitted himself honorably ; but at Ticonderoga and the 
Miami, where he commanded in chief, he reaped only ruin and dis- 
grace. Gates, Lee and himself, all officers educated in the armies 
of Europe, were memorable examples that, in revolutions, it is not 
the accomplished martinet, but the hero, rough from the people, who 
becomes eminent. 

St. Clair was born in Edinburg, in the year 1734. His education 
was elegant, and early took a military turn. In 1755, at the age of 
twenty-one, he accompanied Admiral Boscawen to this country, and 
receiving an Ensign's commission, took the field in the old French 
war. He was one of the immortal band that followed Wolfe, in his 
expedition against Quebec, and was present, on the heights of Abra- 
ham, when the gallant soul of his leader took flight in the hour of 
victory. Before the close of the war, St. Clair had risen to be a 
Lieutenant. He did not remain in the army, however, but disposing 
of his commission, remained in America and embarked in trade. 
Proving unfortunate in commerce, he removed to Ligonier Valley, in 
Pennsylvania, west of the Alleghany mountains, where, succeeding 
in monopolizing various offices of public business, he rapidly 
acquired a fortune. When the war of independence sent its sum- 
mons throuffh the land, St. Clair assumed arms in behalf of his 
adopted country, and, having received a Colonel's commission, was 
so active in recruiting that he raised a regiment within sixty days. 
He was ordered to Canada, where he arrived just after the death of 
Montgomery. In the affair at Three Rivers he took a part. He 
remained with the invading army until Canada was evacuated, 
estabUshing, among his fellow soldiers, a high character for zeal and 
intrepidity. For his services during the campaign Congress rewarded 
him with the rank of Brigadier-General. 

St. Clair now joined the army of Washington. On the morning 
of December 25th, 1776, he accompanied Sullivan's division in the 
memorable attack on Trenton. He was engaged also in the battle 
of Assunpink ; and it was in his tent, on the night after the conflict, that 
the consultation was held, at which the bold manoeuvre of marching 
on the enemy's communications, was resolved upon. Being the 
only general officer acquainted with the country, St. Clair was in 
close attendance on Washington through the eventful transactions 
that succeeded. He was present at the battle of Princeton, though 
here, as at Trenton and Assunpink, no opportunity was afforded of 



ARTHUR ST. CLAIR. 279 

particularly distinguishing himself. A high opinion of his talents, 
however, had spread, and this, added to his amiable manners, secured 
his elevation, in the ensuing spring, to the rank of Major-General ; a 
promotion, however, obtained at the expense of Arnold, whose just 
claims were postponed to those of St. Clair. He was now despatched 
to the northern department, in order to assist Schuyler against Bur- 
goyne. Here the command of Fort Ticonderoga devolved on him. 
This was the first instance in his career in which he was called on 
to assume a leading part. The event proved that his abilities had 
been exaggerated. The greatest expectations had been formed of 
his conduct, and the country was in hourly expectation of hearing 
that he had checked Burgoyne ; but, suddenly, in the midst of this 
sanguine belief, came the startling intelligence that Ticonderoga had 
been abandoned. The revulsion was terrible. A universal outcry 
rose up against St. Clair ; it was said that he had been bribed by sil- 
ver bullets shot into his camp ; and Congress, itself carried away by 
the popular feeling, in the first moments of indignation, ordered his 
recall, as well as Schuyler, and all the Brigadiers. 

At this day, the candid judgment passed on St. Clair, while it jus- 
tifies his intentions, depreciates his ability. He erred, either in not 
abandoning the fort earlier, or in not holding it out to extremity. 
Only one excuse can be given for his conduct. Mount Defiance, 
which commanded the fort, had been always considered inaccessi- 
ble ; consequently, St. Clair took no measures to occupy it ; and when 
Burgoyne, after incredible toil erected a battery there, Ticonderoga, of 
course, became untenable. But no great General trusts to hearsay. 
If Burgoyne had assented, without examination, to the received opi- 
nion respecting Mount Defiance, Ticonderoga would not have fallen 
without a struggle ; and the fact that the British leader doubted 
and made an examination, must always be sufficient to condemn St. 
Clair. The enemy arrived under the walls of the fort on the 1st of July, 
1777. On the 5th, the height was occupied. By the ensuing day, 
it was expected that the batteries would be opened, and the invest- 
ment on all sides of the lines complete. In this crisis, a hurried coun- 
cil of war was called, when the sentiment in favor of a retreat was 
found to be universal. To remain was to insure ultimate capture. The 
only resource was to abandon the place in the night, and fall back 
on Schuyler at Fort Edward. 

In a great degree the country itself is answerable for the loss of 
this fortress. The opinion appears to have been general that Ti- 
conderoga was impregnable, and that it could be defended by a com- 
paratively small force ; hence the army under St. Clair, as appeared 



280 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

on his trial, was not a third of what was required properly to man 
the works. His small numbers left him no resource but to retreat, 
especially after the battery was erected on Mount Defiance. Accord- 
ingly, on the night of the 5th of July, the hapless garrison stole from 
the fortress. The baggage, the hospital furniture, the sick, and such 
stores as the haste would allow, were embarked on board above two 
hundred batteaux and five armed galleys ; and the whole being 
placed under the charge of a strong detachment, commanded by 
Colonel Long, was despatched up Wood Creek, in the direction of 
Fort Edward. The main army proceeded on foot, taking the route 
of Castleton, St. Clair in the van, and Colonel Francis bringing up 
the rear. It was two o'clock in the morning of the 6th, before St. 
Clair left the fort. He had ordered the utmost silence to be pre- 
served, and the lights to be extinguished ; but unfortunately a house 
accidentally took fire on Mount Independence, and by the glare of 
the conflagration the flight of the Americans was detected. Instantly 
the alarm spread in the British camp, and the troops, roused from 
slumber, began a pursuit. Burgoyne undertook for his part to fol- 
low up the galleys, while Generals Reidesel and Frazer gave chase 
to St. Clair. Burgoyne had to cut through some heavy booms and 
a bridge, but, with incredible activity he succeeded in doing this by 
nine o'clock in the morning, and, dashing through the passage, urged 
every muscle and nerve to overtake the baggage. By three o'clock 
he came up with the rear boats near Skeensborough Falls, and at- 
tacked them with great fury. At the same time, three English regi- 
ments, which had been landed, with orders to turn the Americans at 
the Falls, appeared in sight ; on which the fugitives, abandoning 
their baggage and setting fire to their batteaux, fell back precipitately 
to Fort Anne. 

The main army under St. Clair fared little better. Aware that 
he could save his troops only by the rapidity of Ijis flight, that oflicer 
pressed forward with such eagerness that, on the night succeeding 
the evacuation, he was at Castleton, thirty miles from Ticonderoga. 
The rear guard under Colonels Francis and Warner, rested at Hub- 
bardston, six miles short of that place ; and, having been augmented 
from shore by the van, who, from excessive fatigue, had lagged be- 
hind, amounted to a thousand men. This little band, on whom the 
salvation of the whole army devolved, was assailed at five o'clock 
on the morning of the 7th, by General Frazer, at the head of eight 
hundred and fifty veterans. The battle was, for a while, gallantly 
contested. After several shocks, with alternate success, the British 
began to give way ; but Frazer rallied them anew, and led them to 



ARTHUR ST. CLAIR. 281 

a furious charge with the bayonet. Before this impetuous assault, 
the Americans began to shake ; and, at this crisis, Riedesel appear- 
ing, with a column of fresh grenadiers to reinforce Frazer, the rout 
was rendered complete. Colonel Francis, with several officers, and two 
hundred men, were left dead on the field; while Colonel Hall, and sev- 
enteen other officers, besides over two hundred men, were taken 
prisoners. Nearly six hundred are supposed to have been wounded, 
of whom many died miserably, in the woods, before they could 
reach the inhabited country. The whole British loss did not exceed 
one hundred and eighty. At the beginning of the battle there were 
two regiments of Americans about two miles in the rear of Colonel 
Francis. These were ordered up to his assistance, but instead of 
obeying, they fled to Castleton. Had they arrived to his succor, the 
British would probably have been cut to pieces. It will always be 
a reflection on St. Clair that he was not present in this action. If 
Putnam, or Wayne, or any other of the indomitable souls of the Revo- 
lution, had been in command of the retreating garrison, there would 
have been one of the bloodiest frays on that July morning which 
history records. Compare Putnam retreating from Bunker Hill, or 
even Stirling, falling back at Long Island, with St. Clair, on this occa- 
sion, and how much does the latter suff"er by the comparison ! Yet 
St. Clair did not want courage. It was heroic resolution that he 
required — the determination to die rather than retreat. The spirit of 
Leonidas was wanting in him ! 

On receiving intelligence of this defeat, and also of the defeat at 
Skeensborough, St. Clair hesitated whether to retire to the upper 
waters of the Connecticut, or fall back upon Fort Edward. The arri- 
val of the remains of the rear-guard, ten days after, at Manchester, 
where he then was, decided him to adopt the latter course. He 
reached Fort Edward, on the 12th of July, and found Schuyler 
already there. Colonel Long, who had commanded the detachment 
in charge of the batteaux, also succeeded in gaining Fort Edward 
about this time. At this post the consternation was general, except 
in the heroic soul of Schuyler. To add to the calamity, the inhabi- 
tants of the surrounding region, struck with terror by the retreat of 
St. Clair, came pouring past the fort on their flight to the lower set- 
tlements, having abandoned their houses and crops to the mercy of 
the foe. At this day we can scarcely comprehend the excite- 
ment and alarm of that crisis. Nor was it confined to the immediate 
vicinity of the invading host. The blow struck on the shores of Lake 
Champlain, vibrated through the land, from extremity to extremity, 
communicating a sense of horror to every breast. The shock at once 
36 y* 



282 THE HKROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

prostrated St. Clair in the popular estimation. And though a court- 
martiai subsequently exonerated him, declaring, what is true, that he 
violated no military rule, the verdict of the country has been, from 
that day to this, unfavorable to the genius and heroism of the beaten 
General. 

Let us not be misunderstood. St. Clair was guilty only of a 
negative fault. He did not do all that a Ney, or Macdonald would 
have done : yet he did every thing that military rules required. 
Napoleon would have condemned him, nevertheless. The popular 
verdict was more true than that of the court-martial, at least for the 
purposes of history, which should endeavor to make the hero and 
not the mere General the standard. St. Clair, however, did not lose 
the confidence of Washington. A sense of the injustice done the 
unfortunate General, in imputing treasonable motives to him, had 
its effect in producing this course on the part of the Commander-in- 
chief, though, it is beyond a doubt, his opinion of St. Clair's capacity 
was not as high, after these events, as it had been before. His 
appointment of this General to the command of the INIiami expedi- 
tion, in 1791, does not disprove this statement: for the post was one 
to which St. Clair was entitled by seniority; and besides, though not 
a first-rate officer, he was one of average ability. In short, St. Clair 
was not equal to Greene as a strategist; and was inferior to Putnam 
as a leader in battle : yet there is no evidence that he was worse 
than several other general officers who have escaped opprobrium. 
And Avhatever may be thought of his abilities, his patriotism must 
stand unquestioned. 

St. Clair was present at the battle of Brandywine, though he held 
no command. He was also at Yorktown when Cornwallis surren- 
dered, having arrived a few days before the capitulation. From 
this place he was despatched with six regiments to the aid of Greene, 
but the struggle in the Carolinas had terminated before he reached 
his destination. On the conclusion of peace, St. Clair retired to 
Pennsylvania, of which state he was elected a member of Congress 
in 1786. In 17S7 he was chosen President of that commonwealth. 
In 17SS he was appointed Governor of the north-western territory. 
It thus appears that the obloquy which had, at first, attended the 
loss of Ticonderoga had gradually subsided, and that his country, 
sensible of the injustice she had done him, was not unwilling to 
make some amends. In Pennsylvania, where he was regarded 
almost as a native-born citizen, he had never been so unpopular as 
in the more northern states ; and he now continued to enjoy the 
confidence of that commonwealth to a large degree. 



ARTHUR ST. CLAIR. 283 

St. Clair appeared but once more before the people as a military 
leader, and on this last occasion failed as fatally as at Ticonderosa 
and from similar causes. The Indian depredators on the Miami 
requiring chastisement, Washington, in 1791, despatched an army 
to their country. The force was entrusted to St. Clair. On the 1st 
of September he left Fort Washington, and moving north in the 
direction of the enemy's territories, had, on the 3rd of November 
arrived within fifteen miles of the Indians. During the march, his 
force had dwindled down, in consequence of desertion and other 
causes, from two thousand to fourteen hundred men. On the morn- 
ing of the 3rd, just after parade, the savages made an unexpected 
assault on St. Clair's army, and, driving in the militia, who were 
posted in advance, precipitated them, a mass of affrighted fugitives, 
on the regulars, whom they threw into disorder. The Americans 
were soon surrounded, and most of their officers and artillerists 
picked off. The men, now huddled together in confusion, became 
an easy prey to the bullets of their concealed foe. A terrific slaugh- 
ter ensued. St. Clair, in vain endeavored to rally his troops, and 
finally was forced to give the order to retreat. This retrograde 
movement was soon changed into a flight, the men even casting 
aside their arms in order to assist their speed ; nor did the fugitives 
pause until, on the evening of that day, they reached Fort Jefferson, 
thirty miles from the field of battle. In this sanguinary defeat the 
army of St. Clair lost thirty-eight officers and five hundred and nine- 
ty-three soldiers killed ; while twenty-one officers and two hundred 
and forty-two men were wounded. The Indian force was probably 
from one thousand to fifteen hundred. 

This defeat again covered St. Clair with popular odium, which 
was not lessened by the brilliant victory of Wayne in the succeeding 
campaign. St. Clair's error appears to have been the same with that 
of Braddock, a too rigid adherence to military rules unsuited to fron- 
tier warfare. An unfortunate disagreement with his second in com- 
mand contributed also to the disaster. The loss of this battle closed 
the military career of St, Clair. He was continued in his oflice of 
Governor of the north-western territory, however, through the rest 
of Washington's term, and the succeeding administration of John 
Adams; but in 1802, was removed by President Jefferson. 

He now returned to Ligonier Valley. But he was no longer 
wealthy. The little property which had remained to him at the 
close of the Revolution, had now been dissipated, in various vicissi- 
tudes of fortune. At one period, prior to his appointment to the 
north-west territory, he appears to have enjoyed comparative opu- 



284 



THE HEKOES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



lence, for a coteniporary describes him as engaged in the business 
of an auctioneer and hving in elegant style in Philadelphia, Bat 
this prosperity had long since departed. He was now poor, unpopu- 
lar, and without influence. He still held some claims against gov- 
ernment, and on these he fondly relied as the support of his old age. 
But the claims were barred by technicalities. At last in despair, he 
is said to have sought refuge in the family of a widowed daughter, 
living in a condition of the greatest penury. Relief finally came, 
though not from his country. It was his adopted state which stepped 
forward to his aid, and by settling on him an annuity of three hun- 
dred dollars, rescued him from positive indigence. Soon after, this 
annuity was raised to six hundred and fifty dollars. 

St. Clair died on the 31st of August, 1818, having survived to the 
age of eighty -four. 





PHILIP SCHUYLE^R. 



r^HILIP Schuyler, a Ma- 
jor-General in the con- 
tinental army, was born 
at Albany, in 1733. He 
was descended from the 
ancient Dutch family of 
Schuyler, so conspicuous 
in the early history of 
New York. His abilities 
were rather solid than 
brilliant. Of great energy, 
full of resources, industrious, courageous, never yielduig to despair, 
he was capable of great deeds ; and, having been in command of the 
northern department during most of the expedition of Burgoyne, 
should share, with Gates, the credit of the Saratoga convention. He 
was a patriot in the highest sense of that term. Possessmg a large 
fortune, he risked it all for his country. Unjustly treated by Congress, 
he served them notwithstanding their ingratitude. Though of quick 

285 




286 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

temper, he was magnanimous ; and in his whole Hfe was never 
guilty of a meanness. His social qualities were the delight of his 
family and friends. 

Schuyler received an excellent education, at least for the colonies, 
and rose to eminence among his young companions, in the study of 
mathematics. He early turned his attention to military affairs. In 
1755, he took part, with the rank of Captahi, in the unfortunate ex- 
pedition against Ticonderoga ; and, after the death of Lord Howe, 
was deputed to attend the corpse back to Albany. He afterwards 
served as a member of the Provincial Assembly, and made himself 
conspicuous by his bold and resolute stand in favor of the rights of 
the colonies. He moved, and carried, after a strong debate, a series 
of resolutions asserting that the Stamp Act, and others of the op- 
pressive measures of the ministry, were grievances which ought to 
be redressed. This decided conduct, so early in the struggle, and 
from a man who had such large hereditary possessions at stake, de- 
serves for the name of Schuyler the lasting gratitude of America. 
Without him, and Clinton, and Woodhull, New York would proba- 
bly have been lost to the confederation ! 

Schuyler was a member of the second Continental Congress, and 
there formed that intimacy with Washington, which ended only with 
the death of the latter. When the army was organized with Wash- 
ington as Commander-in-chief, Schuyler was appointed one of the 
Major-Generals, and assigned the command of the northern depart- 
ment. In September he was directed to invade Canada. Being, 
however, seized with illness and incapacitated from exertion in the 
field, he was forced to return to Albany, when the command 
devolved upon Montgomery, who gallantly and faithfully executed 
his trust, until he fell, in the arms of glory, on the fatal plains of 
Abraham. Having recovered from his indisposition he was ordered 
to Tryon county, in his native state, to adjust the disturbances exist- 
ing there. In the depth of winter he marched up the Mohawk, 
quelled the threatened storm, and established a treaty with the hos- 
tile Indians. His powers, both of mind and body, were taxed to 
their utmost, at this period, by the requirements of Congress ; but, 
having once dedicated himself to his country, he hesitated at no 
sacrifice of time or health. 

To give an idea of the immense labor Schuyler went through, we 
will state his duties for the space of little over a year. In December, 
1775, he was ordered, as we have seen, to disarm the tories of 
Tryon county; on the 8th of January, 1776, he was directed to 
have the river St. Lawrence, above and below Quebec, explored; 
on the 25th, he was commanded to repair Fort Ticonderoga, and 



PHILIP SCHUYLER. 287 

render it defensible; on the 17th of February, he was summoned 
to take command of the forces, and to conduct the miUtary opera- 
tions at the city of New York; in March, he was requested to fix 
liis head-quarters at Albany, for the purpose of raising and forward- 
ing supphes to the army in Canada; in June he was called on to hold 
a conference, and establish a treaty, if possible, with the Six Nations; 
and immediately afterwards, the last order being countermanded, 
lie was hurried away to Lake Champlain, to build vessels to resist 
the English armament fitting out at St. Johns. All these manifold 
duties he could not, of course, have performed under his immediate 
eye, but he was responsible for the agents he selected, and neces- 
sarily compelled to superintend their performances, to a certain 
degree. Fortunately he was quick and acute in the despatch of 
business. Congress, knowing this fact, availed themselves largely 
of his assistance. 

Schuyler had been superseded, for a short time, in the command 
of the northern army, by Gates. When, however, the long threat- 
ened invasion by Burgoyne, at last burst, like some huge tempest 
that had been lowering all day on the horizon, he was again at the 
head of that department, and prepared to resist the invaders with 
heroic resolution. Never had there been a more splendid army 
landed in America than that which accompanied Burgoyne. The 
British ministry had allowed that General to dictate the number and 
quality of his own forces, in fact, had surrendered to him the entire 
supervision of the whole affair. His brilliant reputation promised 
results the most glorious to England, the most disastrous to America. 
At the head of ten thousand veteran troops, and with a magnificent 
train of artillery, while clouds of savages and Canadians hung on his 
flanks and brought him the earliest intelligence of the movements 
of his foe, Burgoyne advanced from Canada, like some invincible 
hero, scattering proclamations full of promises to those who would 
return to their allegiance, but breathing only vengeance and destruc- 
tion to those who should dare to oppose his steps. At first, he 
swept everything before him. The once impregnable fortress of 
Ticonderoga in vain opposed his progress. The country, which had 
trusted, perhaps, too securely in its strength, was paralyzed on hear- 
ing of its fall, and a general cry of horror rose up, from one end of 
the continent to the other ! 

The news of the capture of Ticonderoga reached Schuyler at 
Stillwater. Pursuing his journey, he heard, on the same day, at 
Saratoga, of the loss of the stores at Skeensborough. As yet, how- 
ever, he had received no intelligence of St. Clair. Hurrying forward 
to Fort Edward, he arrived there just in time to welcome his unfor- 



28S THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTIOX. 

tuiiate subordinate, who, with troops worn down with fatigue, and 
hiniselt^ jaded in mind and body, reached there on the 10th of July. 
The whole force under Schuyler, even after the junction of St. Clair, 
amounlr;^ to little over four thousand, including the militia. He 
was in want of every necessary for his soldiers, who themselves 
were broken down and dispirited. Indeed, when he looked back 
on the reverses whicii had attended his command, he could scarcely 
rally his own spirits ; for, in the late actions, the Americans had lost 
one hundred and twenty-eight pieces of artillery, with a vast quan- 
tity of warlike stores, baggage and provisions. But Schuyler did 
not allow even this consideration to make him despond. He felt 
that the crisis was one demanding energy, and that, if errors had 
been committed by others, it was his part to repair them. The 
enemy still lay at Skeensborough, from which the navigation up 
Wood Creek was comparatively easy to Fort Anne, within sixteen 
miles of Fort Edward. Between these two latter places, the country 
was covered with thick woods, was almost entirely unsettled, and 
was cut up by creeks and morasses. To retard the progress of his 
enemy, and thus gain time, was the course adopted by Schuyler ; 
and was the wisest which could have been selected under the cir- 
cumstances. He despatched parties to impede the navigation of 
Wood Creek, to break up the bridges, to fell trees across the roads, 
and to render the ravines everywhere impassable. He also ordered 
\vhat live stock there was on the route to be driven into Fort Ed- 
ward. Thus, nothing but a savage wilderness was left for Burgoyne 
to traverse, rendered more inhospitable and dreary by every device 
of human ingenuity. As a further resource, Schuyler detached 
Colonel Warner to hang on the enemy's left flank, and endeavor to 
raise the militia in that quarter, trusting that the British General 
would become alarmed for his communications, and weaken his 
main army by sending back a reinforcement to Ticonderoga. 

Meantime, the first stunning blow having passed away, the country 
began to rally to Schuyler's support. Washington wrote, in the 
most cheering terms, from his head-quarters. " We should never 
despair," he said. " Our situation has before been unpromising, 
and has changed for the better. So, I trust, it will again." He 
accompanied these expressions by the most energetic efforts to assist 
the northern army. He ordered a supply of tents to be obtained for 
Schuyler ; he procured artillery and ammunition to be forwarded 
from Massachusetts ; he directed General Lincoln to raise the militia 
of that commonwealth, and hasten to the aid of Schuyler ; and he 
despatched General Arnold, and also Colonel Morgan, with the 
latter's celebrated corps of riflemen, in hopes that the presence of 



PHILIP SCHUYLER. 289 

these two gallant officers might re-animate the northern troops. In 
consequence, appearances at Fort Edward began to assume a more 
cheerful aspect. The numbers of militia there augmented daily. 
A large reinforcement of continental troops had hurried ivp from 
Peekskill. Every day, however, while these additions to his force 
were going on, Schuyler had to listen to the doleful tales of the fugi- 
tive settlers, who, deserting their houses and farms on the route of 
Burgoyne, rushed forward to Fort Edward as their only hope of 
safety. The British General, slowly working his way through the 
obstacles which had been thrown in his path, was advancing, like 
some huge serpent toiling at every foot of land over which it dragged 
its weary body, yet certain of its prey at last. 

It was the 30th of July before the enemy reached Fort Edward, 
and when they arrived, to their chagrin they found it tenantless. 
Schuyler, not deeming it advisable to wait Burgoyne's approach, 
had retired over the Hudson to Saratoga : and soon after, continuing 
his retreat, he fell back to Stillwater, near the mouth of the Mohawk. 
The country along this route was better populated than above Fort 
Edward, and universal consternation now spread among the inhabi- 
tants. The news of the melancholy tragedy of Miss McCrea had, 
by this time, spread far and wide, and, exaggerated in all its details, 
brought mortal terror wherever it was heard. Other atrocities com- 
mitted by the savages who attended Burgoyne were rehearsed, until 
the hairs of the listeners stood on end, and the mother, clasping her 
babe, thought no longer ofpreservingher once happy home, but only 
of seeking safety in flight. The massacre at Fort Henry during the 
last v/ar, was recalled to memory, to increase the dismay and horror 
of the settlers, A universal affright seized on the inhabitants. The 
old man grasped his cane, and giving a last look on the home pro- 
vided for his declining days, took up a long journey for the lower 
districts : the sturdy father yoked his team, and placing his family 
in it with a few household goods, shouldered his musket and set 
forth in the same direction ; while the widowed matron, gathering 
her little ones around her, and looking back, through blinding tears, 
on the deserted habitation that was the sole support of her children, 
followed wearily in the track of the other fugitives. In the haste to 
fly, many left the corn standing in the field, and the grain piled in 
their barns. Others, with a resolution born of despair, fired their 
houses and destroyed their crops before beginning their flight, in 
order that the enemy might derive no assistance from these supplies. 
Thus, the population, as when the ice breaks up in some vast river, 
hurried towards the south, until accumulating in one enormous pile, 
37 2 



290 



THE HKROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 




.^.^m^-k'^ ,/ . 




massackh: at fort iii;nrv in seventeen hundred and fifty-seven. 



it choked up its own passage and remained an impassable barrier 
for the foe. 

But while the whole community was flyina; before him, and a once 
smiling country becomhig a depopulated waste, Burgoyne was be- 
ginning to experience those difficulties which the far-seeing wisdom 
of Schuyler had prepared for him. The surrounding districts being 
universally hostile, he was forced to draw all his provisions from Ti- 
conderoga, and accordingly, from the 30th of July to the 15th 
of August, his time was monopolized in forwarding stores from the 
lower extremity of Lake George, to the first navigable point on the 
Hudson, a distance of eighteen miles. The roads were steep, broken 
and out of repair. Incessant rains fell and added to his difficulties. 
Scarcely one-third of the horses expected from Canada had arrived. 
With difficulty so small a mimber as fifty pair of oxen had been 
procured. Under all these complicated misfortunes it was found 
toilsome to supply the army with food from day to day, and utterly 
impracticable to collect such a store as would furnish a magazine for 
the campaign. On the 15th of August, Burgoyne liad provisions for 
only four days. Like the man in the fairy tale, he had entered with- 
m an enchanted forest, where every step only carried him further 
from hope, and where the clouds gathered darker and tiie thunder 
muttered louder as the day advanced. 

In this emergency he determined on an enterprise which he fondly 
believed would extricate him from his difficulties. At the village of 
Bennington, about twenty miles east of the Hudson, the Americans 



PHILIP SCHUVLER. 291 

had collected large quantities of live cattle, corn, and other necessa- 
ries ; and Burgoyne, anticipating an easy conquest, resolved to detach 
Colonel Baum, with six hundred men, to capture this place and ex- 
pedite the provisions from there to the royal camp. Baron Riedesel 
in vain expostulated against this division of the forces, and hinted at 
the possibility of the expedition being cut off. But Burgoyne saw no 
alternative. A crisis had come when it was necessary to draw sup- 
plies from the surrounding country or retreat. He counted on the 
bravery of his troops for a certain victory, and believed that such a 
check would strike terror and insure the neutrality of the inhabitants. 
Two hundred of Baum's force were dismounted dragoons, who were 
to obtain horses for themselves during this forage; and, in order to 
facilitate the operations of the detachment as far as possible, Bur- 
goyne moved down the Hudson and established himself nearly oppo- 
site to Saratoga. The result of this expedition was the decisive bat- 
tle of Bennington, in which Stark, at the head of the New England 
militia, stormed and carried the entrenchments of Baum, after a ter- 
rific contest two hours in duration. A few days afterwards another 
misfortune befell Burgoyne. This was the defeat of Colonel St. 
Leger, at Fort Schuyler, on the Mohawk, by which that officer was 
compelled to retire in confusion to Montreal, instead of advancing 
in triumph to Albany and there joining Burgoyne, as had been ar- 
ranged in the original plan of the campaign. 

Everything now promised a speedy victory over this proud Brit- 
ish armj?-, which, so lately, with the pomp of a conquering host, had 
darkened the waters of the lake. The measures of Schuyler were 
beginning to bear their fruit. From all sides the mihtia, aroused 
to a sense of the danger, were pouring into the American camp. Al- 
ready the terror of Burgoyne's name was broken. The fall of Ticon- 
deroga had not been able long to depress the public mind; and on a 
nearer view of their condition, the neighboring inhabitants began to 
take courage. To despair had first succeeded hope, and now followed 
the certainty of success. As the spirits of the Americans rose, those 
of the enemy fell. The timid, who had lately leaned to the British 
side, now came out openly in favor of their countrymen ; the disaf- 
fected, alarmed at the aspect things were assuming, hesitated before 
they took the irrevocable step ; and the open tories, who had been 
active in assisting the enemy, began to tremble for their families, if 
not for themselves, and express their anxiety that Clinton, by a bold 
push up the Hudson, should form a junction with Burgoyne and an- 
nihilate at once the hopes of the Americans. Every day added to 
the embarrassments of the royal army. Every day increased the 
numbers of Schuyler's force. Like a hive of ants suddenly disturbed 



292 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

the neighboring population thronged to the scene of strife, until the 
land, far and near, was in a buzz with the advancing hosts. 

But Schuyler was not destined to reap the victory for which he 
had so laboriously sown. Although not present at the fall of Ticon- 
deroga, as the superior officer he had come in for his share of blame ; 
and in New England especially, where the loss was most keenly 
felt, the charge of treason was openly whispered against him. 
Schuyler had never been popular with the troops of Connecticut, 
Massachusetts and New Hampshire ; and, perhaps, for reasons sim- 
ilar to those which rendered Putnam unpopular in New York. Local 
prejudices, at that day, were stronger than at present ; and being a 
New Englander as frequently condemned a man in New York, as 
being a New Yorker condemned a man in New England. This sec- 
tional feeling was the basis of Schuyler's unpopularity. The mis- 
fortunes of the earlier part of the summer atlbrded room for his 
enemies to dilate on his pretended incapacity ; and the current of 
opinion, especially in the neighboring states, soon set so strongly 
against him as to render his removal desirable. It often becomes 
necessary for a government to yield to popular clamor, even when 
unjust, and the present instance was an example ; for it was feared 
that the New England troops would not rally properly, unless under 
a favorite leader. Schuyler was accordingly superseded, and Gates 
appointed in his place. The unfairness of being recalled at this cri- 
sis, when victory was certain, was felt acutely by the disgraced Gene- 
ral. " It is," he wrote to Washington, "matter of extreme chagrin 
to me to be deprived of the command at a time when, soon if 
ever, we shall probably be enabled to face the enemy ; when we are 
on the point of taking ground where they must attack to a disadvan- 
tage, should our force be inadequate to facing them in the field ; when 
an opportunity will, in all probability, occur, in which I might evince 
that I am not what Congress have too plainly insinuated, by taking 
the command from me." The Commander-in-chief secretly acknow- 
ledged the force of these reasons, and saw, with regret, his old and 
valued friend made an unavoidable sacrifice to local prejudices, for 
the good of the common cause ! 

This is the proper place for a remark, forced on us by the circum- 
stances we are considering. It is that the local prejudices of that 
period have survived in part and that even grave historians now 
canvass the relative merits of revolutionary Generals from difi"erent 
sections of the union, and the comparative sacrifices made by the 
various commonwealths in behalf of the common cause. There 
should be no such jealousies admitted at this day. Let a holy veil 
hang over the dissensions of the past ! Every quarter of the union 



PHILIP SCHUYLER. 293 

furnished its distinguished men for the war of independence. Wash- 
ington came from Virginia, Putnam from Connecticut, Schuyler and 
the CUntons from New York, Wayne from Pennsylvania, Marion 
from South Carolina, and a host of others, less distinguished, because 
perhaps less favored by circumstances, from the most remote sec- 
tions of the confederation. In civil talents also the honors were 
equally divided. The middle states afibrded Jay and Morris, the 
New England states Hancock and Adams, Virginia Jefferson and 
Henry, South Carolina her immortal Rutledge. Nor can the impartial 
annalist award to any portion of the country the palm of superior sacri- 
fices in the war. The New England states nominally furnished the 
most men, but their recruits were generally for nine months ; hence, 
they counted three or four times where the recruits of other states, 
enlisting for three years, counted once. After the first year of the 
war. New England was comparatively free from the presence of an 
enemy, while the middle and southern states were ravaged without 
intermission. It must be remembered, likewise, that in New York 
and Pennsylvania the number of loyalists was much greater than in 
New England, and that consequently the exertions of the patriots in 
the former states, even if apparently less, were in reality as great as 
in the more united provinces. There were more large fortunes to be 
lost in the middle states than in New England, and hence the risk 
the patriots there ran was relatively greater. In short, it would be 
invidious to exalt one portion of the confederation at the expense of 
the other. If Boston was the cradle of the Revolution, Philadelphia 
was the altar where it was baptised. If, at Lexington the ball of 
the Revolution was set in motion, at Yorktown it received the stroke 
that sent it victoriously home. 

Though Schuyler, by his removal at this juncture suffered a greater 
injury than was inflicted on any other individual during the war, he 
did not allow his exertions in behalf of his country to be affected by 
it. He was the same noble-hearted patriot, whether in retirement 
or surrounded by power. On the arrival of Gates, he communicated 
to his successor all the information he possessed, and placing every 
paper in his hands, added, " I have done all that could be done as 
far as the means were in my power, to injure the enemy, and to 
inspire confidence in the soldiers of our army, and I flatter myself 
with some success ; but the palm of victory is denied me, and it is 
left to you. General, to reap the fruits of my labors. I wfll not fail, 
however, to second your views ; and my devotion to my country 
will cause me with alacrity to obey all your orders," He kept his 
word, and by his knowledge of the country, and his popularity. 



294 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

among the surrounding inhabitants, was of frequent assistance to 
Gates. On the 16th of October, less than two months after he was 
superseded, the whole British army surrendered as prisoners of war. 
A popular anecdote is told of General Schuyler on this event. Dining 
Avith Bm-goyne, the captive General apologized to him for having 
a few days before, burnt the latter's elegant country seat. " Make 
no excuses, my dear General," was the felicitous reply ; " I feel 
myself more than compensated by the pleasure of meeting you at 
this table." The courtesy and kindness of heart of Schuyler was 
evinced, at the same period, by his delicacy towards the Baroness 
Riedesel, the wife of one of the prisoners. 

In the first moments of indignation, after hearing of the loss of 
Ticonderoga, Congress, by a sweeping resolve, recalled all the Gene- 
rals of the northern department, and directed an inquiry to be made 
into their conduct. On the remonstrance of Washington, however, 
who represented the peril to the service, of a recall of the Generals 
in this crisis, the intention was, for the present, abandoned. Ultimately 
it was put in force, as we have seen, against Schuyler. After the 
surrender of Burgoyne, the misused General was urgent for a court- 
martial, which was finally granted. By this body he was honorably 
acquitted. He now sought, and obtained leave to resign his com- 
mission. He had long contemplated this measure, and only delayed 
it until his exculpation ; nor, under the circumstances, can we blame 
his decision. There was no chance of his ever being useful again in 
a military capacity to his country ; for the prejudices against him 
would forbid his employment in any station worthy his rank. Be- 
sides, the crisis of the war was considered past. Yet there was nothing 
of passionate revenge in this decision of Schuyler ; the assistance he 
rendered Gates proved he was above such littleness. He was still 
willing to serve his country, though in another capacity. How dif- 
ferent this conduct from that of Arnold, who, on far less provoca- 
tion, became a traitor ! 

After his retirement from the army, Schuyler entered Congress, 
where he served during the sessions of 1777 and 1779. He subse- 
quently occupied a seat in the Senate of his native state. In 1789, 
after the adoption of the federal constitution, he was elected a United 
States Senator from New York, and in 1797 was re-elected for 
another term. His health beginning to give way, however, he 
resigned. He died in November, 1804, a short time after his son-in- 
law, Alexander Hamilton — an event which is said to have hastened 
his own death. At the period of his decease he had attained the 
age of seventy-one. 




JOHN STARK, 




John Stark of New Hampshire, 
a Major-General in the continental 
hne, belongs the credit of having 
been the only man, during the war 
of independence, who, at the head 
y \ of a body of militia, stormed and 
carried entrenchments defended by 
veteran troops. At Bunker Hill, 
the British regulars, though assisted 
by artillery, and exceeding in num- 
bers the Americans, were twice 
driven back, and would probably 
have been a third time repulsed, 

the failure of their ammunition; while at Bennington, the 

295 



296 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

New England militia successfully assaulted works defended by 
batteries, and utterly defeated one of the finest corps in the army of 
Burgoyne. Much of the glory of this achievement belongs exclu- 
sively to Stark, whose influence over his raw levies was miraculous, 
and whose skill availed itself of every possible contingency in his 
favor. In short, the hero of Bennington was one of the ablest mili- 
tary men of the Revolution, and, but for his strong local prejudices 
and tenacity on the score of rank, would have deserved unqualified 
praise as a patriot. We do not mean to imply, however, that Stark 
was not devoted to his country, but only that he gave the preference 
to that portion of it where he was born and bred : " not that he loved 
America less, but New England more." Nor can his tenacity on 
the point of military rank, fairly be reprehended. It is curious to 
trace the effect of this sentiment on three prominent men of the Re- 
volution. Mercer, in the enthusiasm of his chivalric soul, declared 
his willingness to fight, even in the most subordinate capacity. 
Stark, with more of personal feeling, resigned his conmiission when 
he found his claims neglected. Arnold, in whom there was an 
almost total absence of the moral sense, became a traitor, to revenge 
similar wrongs. In Mercer there was the true heroic metal, an 
absence of all selfishness : in Stark there was just enough leaven of 
the baser feeling to reduce his character to the scale of common 
humanity ; in Arnold selfishness triumphed over patriotism, and 
sunk him below his race, to be execrated as a villain to all time ! 

Stark was born in Londonderry, New Hampshire, the 2Sth, of 
August, 1728. His father was a native of Glasgow, who had emi- 
grated first to Ireland, and afterwards to America. The son grew 
up athletic and hardy, though with but little education. At the age 
of twenty-four, while engaged on a hunting expedition, he was 
made prisoner by the savages. In the perilous situation in which 
he now found liimself, he first displayed those qualities of mind 
which afterwards rendered him so remarkable. Brave and adven- 
turous, with great insight into character, and a coolness that never 
deserted him in emergencies, he was always ready to act, and in the 
wisest way, when others lost all presence of mind. An instance in 
point soon occurred. He M^as carried to the Indian village, with a 
companion taken at the same time, and the young warriors, arming 
tliemselves with clubs, and forming a double line, ordered their 
prisoners to run the customary gauntlet. The companion of Stark 
sulfered a severe beating before he could gain the council house. 
But when it came to the turn of the latter, suddenly seizing a club 
from the first warrior, he laid about him right and left, scattering the 



JOHN STARK. 297 

young men to the great amusement of the older Indians, and reach- 
ing the end of the line almost without receiving a blow. Soon after, 
he was ordered to hoe corn, when he destroyed the corn and pre- 
served the weeds : and finished by throwing his hoe into the river, 
and declaring it was a business only fit for squaws, and not for war- 
riors. By this conduct, founded on a profound knowledge of the 
Indian character, he gained the applause of the savages, and was 
adopted by them into their tribe. He remained with them for some 
time, and until ransomed by the colony of Massachusetts. He was 
afterwards accustomed to declare that he experienced far better 
treatment during this captivity than it was usual for prisoners of 
war to receive even among civilized nations. 

When the French war began, in 1754, Stark, who had already 
won a high reputation as a scout, obtained the commission of Second 
Lieutenant in a company of rangers. It is not our purpose to follow 
him in detail through that contest, though it afibrded scope for many 
gallant deeds, and was the school in which the leaders of the Revo- 
lution were very generally trained. We shall merely glance at the 
prominent events in which Stark took part. The first campaign 
passed without any transactions of importance. In the succeeding 
year he was hi the desperate fight near Fort Edward, in which 
Baron Dieskau, the Commander of the French, was mortally wound- 
ed. In January, 1757, Stark, with his superior. Major Rogers, and 
about seventy men, was sent out on a scouting expedition to Lake 
Champlain, with orders, if possible, to cut off the supplies from 
Crown Point to Ticonderoga. The party captured a few sleighs 
between the two forts, but most of the convoy escaped, and the 
alarm being given, a detachment from tire garrison of Ticonderoga 
arrested the rangers in their retreat. A stubborn and bloody con- 
flict ensued. Major Rogers, who had brought on them the ambush, 
by refusing Stark's suggestion to return to Fort Edward by a 
new route, being twice wounded, was about to surrender, but to this 
his more heroic Lieutenant would not listen, and, by maintaining 
the fight until dusk. Stark managed to effect his escape. Marching 
all night through the woods, the little army reached Lake George 
the next morning ; but here, worn out by cold, fatigue, and loss of 
blood, they gave up the march in despair. Stark alone maintained 
his spirits, and bore up against physical depression. Accoutring 
himself with snow shoes, he started for Fort Edward, a distance of 
forty miles, and arrived there the same evening, an almost incredible 
feat for one who had fought for most of the preceding day, and 
marched all of the preceding night. Sleighs were hastily despatched 
38 



298 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

for the sufferers, who, on the ensumg day, arrived in safety. For 
his gallantry on this occasion, Stark was rewarded with the rank of 
Captain. Not long after, by his judicious conduct in refusing liquor 
to his troops on St. Patrick's day, he saved Fort Edward, in a night 
attack made by the French garrison of Fort Ticonderoga. His 
regiment, during this campaign, was ordered to Halifax, but an 
attack of the small pox prevented him accompanying it. 

In the year 1758, occurred the disgraceful repulse of General 
Abercrombie from before Fort Ticonderoga. The expedition, at 
first successful, appeared to be attended with misfortunes from the 
hour of Lord Howe's death, a young nobleman of great promise, and 
who had rendered himself peculiarly dear to the provincials. He 
had imbibed a friendship for Stark. The latter supped with him 
the night before his death, and the conversation turned chiefly on 
the expected battle, and the mode of attack. It was the duty of the 
rangers to precede the main army, and drive in the outlying parties 
of the enemy : and the last observations, at this supper, were on the 
order given to Stark's regiment, to carry a bridge on their route 
early the next morning. The bridge was found strongly defended 
by Canadians and Indians, but, at a vigorous charge, the enemy 
tied. Lord Howe, n,iarching at the head of his column, came across 
a part of the advanced guard of the foe, which had lost its way in 
the forest, and, on the first fire, fell. His loss was so much regretted, 
that the General Court of Massachusetts appropriated two hundred 
and fifty pounds to erect a monument for him in Westminster Abbey. 
Lord Howe was the elder brother of Sir William Howe, and an 
illegitimate cousin to the King. His untimely fate, though at first 
deplored, saved him, in the end, from taking up arms against his 
old companions, during the war of the Revolution. 

After this event the army moved towards Ticonderoga, though 
with such criminal delay, that the enemy had time to entrench them- 
selves behind a breast-work of trees, whicii the English found 
impregnable to assault, though they stormed them several times 
with great fury. On this bloody and disastrous day there fell of the 
British army six hundred killed, while nearly fifteen hundred were 
wounded. General Abercrombie now retreated to the south end of 
Lake George. At the close of the campaign Stark went home on a 
furlough, and was married to Elizabeth Page. In the spring he 
returned to the army, now commanded by General Amherst, and 
was present at the capture of Ticonderoga and Crown Point. His 
military services in the royal cause may be said to have terminated 
with this campaign. With other provincial officers, he had become 



JOHN STARK. 



299 



indignant at the arrogance exhibited by the young EngHshmen of 
the same rank with himself, but of infinitely less experience. He 
accordingly resigned, but carried with him the esteem of General 
Amherst, who promised him that he should resume his rank in the 
army whenever he chose to rejoin it. If the war had continued, 





GENERAL ABERCROMBIK's ARMY CROSSING LAKE GEORGB. 



Stark might probably have again engaged in military life ; but after 
the fall of Canada, peace was soon concluded. 

In the quiet avocations of private life, Stark employed himself until 
the breaking out of the war of the Revolution. When that event was 
rendered inevitable, overtures were made to him by the royal gov- 
ernment : but he preferred to embark in behalf of the cause of the 
colonies. His elder brother, William Stark, was less patriotic, and 
was rewarded with the rank of Colonel in the British army. On 
the eve of his departure, the latter strove to persuade his brother 
John to follow his example ; but the appeal was in vain : and the 
two brothers, who had drawn sustenance from the same maternal 
breast, parted, never to meet again except in mortal strife. Stark 
remained at home until the intelligence of the battle of Lexington 
reached him, when, flinging himself on his horse, he galloped to 
head quarters, almost without drawing rein. He was immediately 
appointed Colonel of one of the three regiments raised by the Pro- 
vincial Congress of New Hampshire. In the skirmish at Noddle's 



300 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

Island he took an active part. On the da}- of the battle of Bunker 
Hill, after General Ward had, at last, consented to reinforce the 
troops under Prescott, Stark was ordered to march, with the New 
Hampshire regiments, to the scene of expected strife, which he did 
leisurely, arriving just in time for the battle, with his men as fresh 
and eager as if they had not come a mile. His post was at the 
rail-fence, which extended, it will be remembered, from the road 
down to the river Mystic ; and the fire of his troops was so deadly, 
that, of the companies opposed to him, a royal officer declared, after 
the battle, some had but eight or nine, some only three or four men 
left. When it became necessary to retreat, he drew off his troops 
in good order. During the siege of Boston, he remained posted with 
his regiment at Winter Hill, and, on the evacuation of the city, his 
were among the New England troops that followed Washington to 
New York. 

Stark did not, however, remain to participate in the misfortunes 
of Long island, having been detached, in May, to join the American 
army in Canada. He served with distinction through the, northern 
campaign of that year, after which he was ordered to rejoin Wash- 
ington, now retreating through the Jerseys. He arrived at the camp 
of the Commander-in-chief on the 20th of December, 1776, just in 
time to participate in the victory at Trenton, when he led the van- 
guard of the right wing, under Sullivan. He was at the battle of 
Assunpink also, as well as at that of Princeton, remaining with 
Washington until the latter had established himself in winter quar- 
ters at Morristown. During the dark crisis that witnessed these 
battles. Stark had been of essential service, by inducing the New 
Hampshire troops, whose terms of service had expired on the 1st of 
January, to re-enlist for six weeks ; and now, when the campaign 
for the winter was over, and his presence could be spared, he 
hastened back to his native state in order to recruit the ranks of his 
regiment. His popularity speedily enabled him to do so with 
entire success ; but having heard of the promotion of some junior 
officers over his head, he threw up his commission in disgust. The 
feeling was a natural one, and can scarcely be reprehended, espe- 
cially as he did not allow it to interfere with the services of his sons 
in the cause of freedom. He signified, also, his intention to take the 
field if any emergency should arise in which his country should 
demand his aid. In this conduct there was perhaps nothing of the 
self-sacrificing enthusiasm of the true heroic character ; but neither 
was there anything different from what might be expected of even 
a good patriot, with the ordinary weaknesses of humanity. It is, 



JOHN STARK. 



301 



perhaps, difficult to decide in cases like that of Stark, between what 
is due to personal dignity, and what is due to country. 




JOUM LANGDON. 



The rapid approach of Burgoyne, however, in the autumn of the 
same year, brought Stark again into the field. Alarmed at the inroad 
of the enemy, the inhabitants of the New Hampshire grants declared 
to the New Hampshire Committee of Safety, that, unless they could 
receive succor, they should be compelled to abandon the country 
and seek a refuge east of the Connecticut River. This intelligence 
aroused the public spirit of New Hampshire. Measures of relief to 
the inhabitants of the grants were immediately adopted. John 
Langdon, a merchant of Portsmouth, took the lead in this move- 
ment. Finding some members of the Assembly disposed to hesitate, 
because the public credit was exhausted, and there was no perceptible 
means of relieving it, he addressed the house in these memorable 
words: "I have three thousand dollars in hard money; I will 

AA 



302 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

pledge my plate for three thousand more ; I have several hogsheads 
of Tobago rum, which shall be sold for the most it will bring. They 
are at the service of the state. If we succeed in defending our fire- 
sides and homes, I may be remunerated. Our old friend Stark, who 
so nobly maintained the honor of our state at Bunker Hill, may be 
safely entrusted with the conduct of the enterprise, and we will check 
the progress of Burgoyne." 

At these noble words there was no longer any despondency. The 
patriotic enthusiasm of Langdon infused itself into every portion of 
the house : the militia were called out and formed into two brigades ; 
and a portion of them, being placed under the command of Stark, 
were ordered to stop the progress of the enemy on the western 
frontier. Stark accepted this command on condition of not being 
obliged to join the main army, but allowed to lie on the skirts of the 
foe, exercise his own discretion as to his movements, and account 
to none but the authorities of New Hampshire. His terms being 
acceded to, he marched at once to Manchester, twenty miles to the 
north of Bennington. Here he was met by General Lincoln, whom 
Schuyler, then in command of the northern army, had sent to conduct 
the militia to the Hudson. Stark, however, refused to go, alleging 
his discretionary powers, and arguing that it was wiser to harass the 
enemy's rear than to concentrate the whole army in his front. On 
this, Lincoln applied to Congress, who passed a resolution of censure 
on Stark's conduct, as destructive of military subordination ; at the 
same time they directed him to conform to the rules which other 
general officers of the militia were subject to when called out at the 
expense of the United States. 

However prejudicial as an example, Stark's insubordination might 
be, his determination to harass th^ enemy's rear was wise, as events 
soon proved. Burgoyne had already begun to feel the scarcity of 
provisions. Hoping to supply himself from the surrounding country, 
he determined to send out a strong foraging party ; and for this 
purpose he despatched Colonel Baum with six hundred men in the 
direction of Bennington. Stark, who had just arrived at the latter 
place, hearing of the advance of this expedition, immediately sent 
out Colonel Gregg to check it, while he proceeded to rally the 
neighboring militia. The following morning he moved forward to 
the support of Gregg, whom he met retreating, and the enemy within 
a mile of him. Stark halted promptly and prepared for battle. But 
the enemy instead of attacking him, began to entrench himself 
in a highly favorable position, while an express was hurried off to 
Burgoyne for reinforcements. Stark, at first, endeavored to draw 



JOHN STARK. 303 

the enemy from his ground, but faihng in this, fell back about a 
mile, leaving only a small force to skirmish with the foe. This was 
done with such success that thirty of the British, with two Indian 
chiefs, their allies, were killed or wounded, without any loss on the 
part of the assailants ; a happy augury of the more decisive conflict 
yet to come. 

The ensuing day, the 15th of August, 1777, proved rainy, but 
amid the pelting storm, the enemy worked laboriously on his en- 
trenchments, more and more intimidated by the hostile appearance 
of the inhabitants. He had chosen his ground with admirable skill. 
The German troops were posted on a rising ground at a bend of the 
Wollamsac, a tributary of the Hoosac, and on its northern bank; 
while a corps of tories was entrenched on the opposite side of the 
stream, and nearly in front of the German battery. The river wound 
backwards and forwards several times, before it reached Stark's 
camp, but was fordable in all places. The militia under Stark, who 
beheld the enemy entrenching himself more strongly, all through 
the 15th, began, at last, to grow impatient, particularly a detachment 
from Berkshire county, headed by their clergyman. These men, to- 
wards daylight of the 16th, waited on the General and declared that 
if he did not lead them to fight, they would never turn out again. 
" Do you wish to march then," said Stark, " while it is dark and 
rainy ?" " No," replied the clergyman, who was the spokesman. 
" Then," retorted Stark, " if the Lord should once more give us sun- 
shine, and I do not give you fighting enough, I will never ask you 
to come again." 

It was three o'clock in the afternoon on the 16th, before the 
weather would permit the attack to be made. The plan of battle, 
proposed by Stark, and agreed to in a council of war was 'this. Col. 
Nichols, with two hundred men, was to assail the rear of the ene- 
my's left ; while Colonel Herrick, with three hundred men, was to 
fall on the rear of their right, the two Colonels to form a junction 
before beginning the assault. In order to divert the attention of the 
foe, however, Colonels Hubbard and Stickney were deputed to ad- 
vance with two hundred men on their right and one hundred in 
front. Stark himself moved slowly forward in front, until he heard 
the rattlfi of Nichols's musketry, when, ordering his men to cheer, 
he rushed on the tories. The action soon became general on all sides. 
Neither the Germans nor the loyalists could assist one another, for 
each had work enough on their own hands. Attacked in front and 
rear, and with an impetuosity they had little expected, the enemy 
scarcely knew what to do, yet still fought desperately on. In a few 



304 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



minutes tlie struggle had become a general melee. The entrench- 
ments blazed with fire ; the shouts of the combatants rose over the 
roar of the guns ; and the colors of the German troops, firmly planted 
on the battery, floated, for a long time, unharmed. The smoke of 
battle gradually grew thicker and darker around the scene. The 
Indian allies of the enemy had fled at the beginning of the battle, 
disheartened by finding themselves assailed in their rear; but the reg- 
ulars dauntlessly maintained their ground, meeting the assaults of the 
Americans with the push of the bayonet, and girdling their little 
entrenchments with the dead. But if the foe fought bravely, the as- 
sailants fought not less so ! Hotter and hotter waxed the fight as that 
summer sun began to decline. The roar of musketry ; the shouts of 




BATTLE OF BENNINGTON. 



the excited combatants ; the groans and cries of the dying, rose in 
terrible discord. It seemed as if the elements were joining in the 



JOHN STARK. ' 305 

commotion. To use the words of Stark himself, it was like one 
continued clap of thunder ! At last the tories gave way, and were 
forced from their breast-work : then, after a desperate, but fruitless 
charge of their cavalry, totally routed. They fled, leaving their 
artillery and baggage to the victors. 

The militia now dispersed for plunder, when suddenly intelligence 
was brought to Stark, that a large reinforcement of the British army 
was advancing, and was within two miles. This force was com- 
manded by Colonel Breyman, and had been sent in reply to Baum's 
express. The rain of the last two days had delayed its march, op- 
portunely for the Americans. At its approach the fugitives under 
Baum rallied, and, as most of Stark's men had abandoned him, the 
victory just gained, for a while seemed about to be snatched from 
his grasp. But a fresh body of Americans, arriving from Benning- 
ton at this crisis, saved the day. Still, the battle was contested until 
sunset, when the enemy took to flight, leaving Baum mortally 
wounded on the field. The spoils of victory were four pieces of 
brass cannon, a quantity of German swords, several hundred stand 
of arms, eight brass drums, and about seven hundred prisoners. Two 
hundred and seven of the enemy were found dead on the scene of 
the struggle ; while the loss of the Americans was but thirty killed 
and forty wounded. The battle of Bennington aff'ords the only 
instance during the war, in which a body of militia carried en- 
trenchments manned by veteran troops and defended with artillery. 
The number of the assailants, it is true, considerably exceeded those 
of the enemy. The victory, notwithstanding, was one of the most 
wonderful of the war. 

Congress on hearing the results of the battle, overlooked the dis- 
respect of Stark, in failing to notify them of the victory, and passed 
an unanimous vote of thanks to him and to his brave troops ; at the 
same time, with but a single dissenting voice, they raised him to the 
rank of Brigadier-General in the continental army. N or was the reward 
disproportionate to his services. The moral effect of the battle of 
Bennington was even greater than its physical results. Burgoyne 
had trusted to Baum's expedition to obtain a supply of provisions, 
but, in consequence of the defeat, he was forced to wait until sup- 
plies could be sent from Ticonderoga. This delayed his progress 
and afforded time for the Americans to prepare the net in which they 
afterwards enclosed him. The Baroness Riedesel, wife of one of 
Burgoyne's Generals, declares that the defeat of Baum " paralyzed 
at once the operations of the British army." The victory at Ben- 
nington, moreover, raised the drooping spirits of the Americans. 
39 A A* 



306 THK HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

Washington had foreseen that this would be the result of any advan- 
tage gained over the enemy, however inconsiderable. Writing to 
Schuyler as early as the 1 7th of July, and when so many were de- 
sponding in consequence of the loss of Ticonderoga, he used these 
remarkable words : '' I trust General Burgoyne's army will meet, 
sooner or later, an eflectual check ; and, as I suggested before, that 
the success he has had will precipitate his ruin. From your accounts, 
he appears to be pursuing that line of conduct, which, of all others, 
is most favorable to us. I mean acting in detachment. This con- 
duct will certainly give room for enterprise on our part, and expose 
his parties to great hazard. Could we be so happy as to cut off one 
of them, though it should not exceed four, five, or six hundred men, 
it would inspirit the people and do away much of their present 
anxiety. In such an event they would lose sight of past misfortunes, 
and urged at the same time by a regard for their own security, they 
would fly to arms and atford every aid in their power." Memora- 
ble and prophetic words ! 

After the victory of Bennington, Stark proceeded to the American 
camp, where Gates had been now promoted to the chief command. 
On the 18th of September, however, the term of Stark's troops ex- 
pired, and notwithstanding he urged them to re-enlist, they refused, 
and began their return march. The next day the battle of Sara- 
toga occurred, before Stark, with his militia, had proceeded ten 
miles. At the sound of the firing, some of the soldiers were for re- 
tracing their steps, but the reports ceasing, the whole body continued 
its homeward journey. Stark, at this time, had not yet heard of 
his promotion, but the intelligence of it arrived in a few days. He 
now recruited a considerable force and hastened to place his little 
army in Burgoyne's rear, contending that, if the militia were but 
true to themselves, the British General would be forced to surrender 
at discretion. Gates thought it wiser, however, not to drive his ene- 
my to despair; and accordingly consented to an honorable capitula- 
tion. 

The campaign being over. Stark returned to his native state, and 
occupied himself industriously in procuring recruits and supplies for 
the succeeding year. A short time after he reached home, Congress 
ordered him to prepare for a winter expedition against Canada. 
This was the celebrated project, conceived by the Board of War, 
without the knowledge or advice of Washmgton, and intended to 
detach LaFayette from the Commander-in-chief. Stark repaired to 
Albany, and subsequently visited Vermont, New Hampshire, and 
Massachusetts, to forward preparations, but on his return, early in 



JOHN STARK. 307 

the succeeding year, 1778, he was assigned the command of the 
northern department. The duties he was now called on to perform 
he always spoke of as the most unpleasant of his life. He had a 
large frontier to protect and but few troops to do it with; while he 
was surrounded by a sort of licensed tories, " in the midst of spies, 
peculators and public defaulters. He labored to reform the abuses 
in the department, and succeeded like most reformers. Those who 
were detected, cursed him, and their friends complained." In Octo- 
ber he was ordered to Rhode Island, a command which he obeyed 
with alacrity. Here his duty, in connexion with General Gates, 
was to gain information of the plan of the enemy and guard against 
invasion. During the winter, he returned, for a short period, to New 
Hampshire, in order to raise recruits. In the spring, rejoining his 
post, he was deputed by General Gates to examine the shores of Nar- 
ragansett Bay on the west side, from Providence to Point Judith, and 
on the east side, from Providence to Mount Hope. This was a ser- 
vice requiring the utmost vigilance, and a system of constant and 
perilous espionage on the enemy, then at Newport. Finally, in No- 
vember, the British left that town, on which Stark immediately took 
possession. 

He was now ordered to Washington's head-quarters in New Jer- 
sey ; and in the winter again returned to New Hampshire for recruits 
and supplies. He arrived at West Point, on his return, a few days be- 
fore the treason of Arnold, and passing on, joined his division at Liberty 
Pole, New Jersey. He was one of the council of war that tried and 
condemned Andre. During the autumn, at the head of twenty-five 
hundred men, and with a large train of wagons and teams, he made 
a descent towards York Island, pillaging the country of provisions 
to the very verge of Morrisania and Kingsbridge ; the British, sus- 
])ecting some subtle design to be concealed by his movements, did 
not interfere. During the winter. Stark was seized with an illness 
which forced him to apply for leave of absence ; but, in the spring 
of 1781, his health being recruited, he was assigned the command of 
the northern department for the second time. Unpleasant as the 
task was, he resolved to do his duty. The country was infested 
with the same species of spies and traitors who had annoyed him 
in 1778; and also by brigands, or armed bodies of refugees, who 
plundered at will, and even carried off the inhabitants into Canada as 
prisoners. Shortly after Stark's arrival, one of these parties Avas ar- 
rested within his lines. The leader produced a commission as a British 
Lieutenant, but as he had been a refugee from that section, and his 
practices were known. Stark summoned a board of officers and procured 



308 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTIOX. 



the condemnation of the man as a spy. The sentence was sternly 
executed, notwithstanding the excitement it created. The friends 
and connexions of the sufferer in Albany even applied to Washing- 
ton, complaining that, being a British officer, his death would be 
made the subject of retaliation. The Commander-in-chief demanded 
a copy of the proceedings in the case, which was sent, but here the 
matter dropped. The effect of Stark's bold conduct, however, was 
to put a stop to brigandage. From this period to the close of the 
war nothing of interest in his life remains to be noticed. When 
peace had been concluded, and the army was about to be disbanded, 
he exerted his influence, in opposition to the celebrated Newburgh 
letters, to allay discontent and prevent insubordination. 

Stark now retired to his farm, where he lived in quiet and plenty, 
until the 8th of May, 1822, when he terminated his days at the ad- 
vanced age of ninety-four. His character we have endeavored to 
pourtray faithfully in this short memoir. He was a man of strong 
talents and of a resolute will, though of little mental cultivation, 
and a hard, unyielding disposition. His manners were frank and open, 
but eccentric. He was kind but stern in his social relations, and firm, 
though not chivalric, in his patriotism. His influence over the mili- 
tia, arising from a keen insight into their character, was, perhaps, 
superior to that of any other general officer in the Revolution. It is 
singular that, though participating in so many battles, he was never 
wounded. 

His remains are deposited on a rising ground, near the river Mer- 
rimac, visible four or five miles, both up and down the stream. His 
family has erected a granite obelisk on the spot, with the simple, 
but all-sufiicient inscription, "Major-General Stark." 





HORATIO GATES 




nary 



HE most fortunate, and at the 
same time unfortmiate of the Ge- 
nerals of the Revolution, Horatio 
Gates, was, like St. Clair, Lee 
and Conway, a foreigner by birth. 
Gates was born in England, in 
the year 1728. He was one of 
those individuals whom fortune, 
rather than ability, makes famous. 
With little original talent, but 
great self-sufficiency ; more of the 
fine soldier than the true General ; 
elegant but shallow ; chivalrous 
in manner rather than in fact ; 
captious, unjust, stooping to low 
arts to rise ; yet courteous, digni- 
fied, honorable according to ordi- 
standards ; a fair tactician, and a brave man; a soldier who 

309 



.310 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

bore misfortune better than success ; his character presents itself to 
the ainiahst as merely that of a common-place commander, without 
one atom of the hero in its composition. A train of fortunate cir- 
cumstances presented victory before him, and though he had the 
genius to secure it, he had none beyond that. Had he been more 
self-poised he might have proved a greater man. But, unlike Wash- 
ington and Greene, success destroyed his equilibrium of mind, and 
precipitated him into acts of presumptuous folly. His portrait, as 
seen on the Burgoyne medal, is eminently characteristic. The finely 
chiselled profile, and graceful flow of the hair, contrasted with the 
low and retreating forehead, conjure up vividly before the mind the 
idea of elegant mediocrity ! 

At a very early age. Gates entered the British army with the 
commission of an Ensign. He served with credit in this subordinate 
capacity, gradually rising by honorable promotion. At the siege of 
Martinico he acted as Aid-de-camp to the British General ; and sub- 
sequently, about the year 1748, was stationed at Halifax, in Nova 
Scotia. When the French war broke out in America, he came to this 
country as a Captain of foot, and was present with the unfortunate 
Gen. Braddock at the battle of Monongahela. In this action he re- 
ceived a wound which, for some time, unfitted him for service. At 
the conclusion of peace, in 1763, he settled in Virginia, adopting the 
life of a planter, and rendering himself popular by his elegant man- 
ners, his hospitality, and his general intelligence. 

When the difliculties between the colonies and Great Britain be- 
gan to assume a threatening aspect. Gates embraced the side of his 
adopted country with enthusiasm. His military reputation, like that 
of all the retired officers in America, who had served in the royal 
army, stood very high : nor was this to be wondered at, for, with 
the exception of a few individuals, who, like Washington, Putnam 
and Stark, had held commissions in the provincial regiments, the 
ignorance of military affairs was almost universal. It will be found 
that a large proportion of the higher posts in the continental line, at 
its first formation, was given to officers bred in the royal army : — 
witness Lee, Montgomery, Mercer and St. Clair! In this favored 
class was Gates, who received the appointment of Adjutant-General, 
with the rank of Brigadier. He immediately joined the camp at 
Cambridge. His appointment was, in part, the result of Washing- 
ton's recommendations. But he had not been long at head-quarters, 
before he made an application to be received in the line, and being 
refused, from that hour he became secretly hostile to the Command- 
er-in-cliief. With much that was noble and generous in his compo- 



HORATIO GATES. 311 

sition, Gates mingled a petty jealousy, the consequence of ej;cessive 
self-conceit, which marred an otherwise chivalrous character, and 
was the cause of all those siibsequent errors that ruined him in the 
eyes of his cotemporaries, and disgraced him in those of posterity. 

In 1777, Gates received the appointment of Commander-in-chief on 
the northern frontier. This gift he obtained, through favoritism, and at 
the expense of Schuyler; for even at this early period, Gates was 
the idol of a faction secretly averse to Washington. The elements 
of this faction, as revealed by subsequent developments, were of the 
most opposite and unexpected character. On the one side the pa- 
triotic Samuel Adams, misled by the violence of his local feelings, 
disliked the appointment of Washington, because made at the ex- 
pense of Massachusetts ; on the other. General Mifflin, of Pennsyl- 
vania, angry at the refusal of the Commander-in-chief to elevate him 
and his friend Gates at the expense of others, secretly brooded over 
revenge. The two, exercising their influence, both in and out of 
Congress, already raised a powerful faction, the purposes of whicli, 
though masked from the public, were well understood among them- 
selves. To depreciate Washington and his friends, while, at the 
same time, they advanced their own interests, was the aim of this 
cabal. Nor, for a time, did they despair of success. They seem to 
have hesitated, at first, between Lee and Gates as a substitute for 
the Commander-in-chief, but finally, when the former was made pri- 
soner, to have united on the latter. As yet, however, they care- 
fully concealed their designs. When Schuyler fell under censure 
in the winter of 1777, they adroitly procured the nomination of 
Gates to his place ; but, when Schuyler was proved innocent, they 
thought it most prudent to consent to his restoration, as they found 
themselves not yet strong enough to prevent it. Hence, on the fall 
of Ticonderoga, they seized the occasion to misrepresent Schuyler, 
and by covering him with odium, procure from Congress the exal- 
tation of their favorite. Accordingly, on the 20th of August, 1777, 
Gates arrived at the camp at Stillwater, and received the command 
from the hands of his misused predecessor. There is a dignity in 
Schuyler's words on this occasion which is touchingly eloquent. 
After describing the measures he had taken to embarrass Burgoyne, 
and foretelling the success that would follow them, he remarked, 
" but the palm of victory is denied me, and it is left to you, General, 
to reap the fruits of my labors." And from that hour, as we have 
seen, he continued as unremitting in his exertions as if he was the 
injurer instead of the injured. 

Gates continued at Stillwater, where he daily received reinforce- 



312 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION, 

ments, until Burgoyne had crossed the Hudson, on the 14th of Sep- 
tember, when, advancing about two miles in front of the village, he 
took possession of Behmis Heights, a range of hills sweeping inland 
from the river, and presenting a convex front, like a bent bow, towards 
the enemy. Here he threw up an entrenched camp, extending from 
a defile on the river Hudson, to a steep height on the west, about 
three quarters of a mile distant. The main fortifications were at 
the defile, where Gates commanded the right wing in person. The 
Massachusetts regiments and a New York regiment under James 
Livingston, occupied the centre, which was a plain, covered in front, 
at the distance of a quarter of a mile, by a wooded ravine. The left, 
composed of Poor's brigade, of Morgan's riflemen, and of a few 
other regiments, was posted on the heights, and, together with the 
centre, formed a division under the command of General Arnold. 
Thus placed, the Americans presented a barrier to Burgoyne, which 
it was necessary for him to force before he could proceed. But con- 
fident of the valor of his veteran troops, the British General did not 
hesitate. On the morning of the nineteenth of September he formed 
his army in order of battle. His plan was worthy of his. genius. 
Himself with the centre, and Frazer with the right wing were to 
make a circuitous route by two different roads, around the left of the 
Americans, and having attained this point to concentrate their forces 
and fall headlong on the astonished enemy. Generals Philips and 
Riedesel, meantime, were to advance slowly along the river road, 
with the artillery, and within half a mile of the American line, they 
were to pause and await two signal guns, announcing the attack on 
the enemy's rear. After this they were to precipitate themselves on 
the defile and force their way through. 

But this plan of attack, so clever in arrangement, was destined to 
be less happy in its execution. The keen foresight of Arnold detected 
the manoeuvre of Burgoyne, and sending to Gates, he begged for 
authority to assail the enemy's right in anticipation. That he might 
do so elfectually he solicited reinforcements. But Gates, fearful of 
an attack himself, refused to weaken his wing, though he gave per- 
mission for Arnold to send out Morgan to observe the enemy. Ac- 
cordingly that officer, with his gallant rifle corps, took a wide circuit 
on the American left, and soon came unexpectedly on the centre of 
the British, already nearly in a line with the entrenchments, and 
rapidly approaching Arnold's rear. A sharp skirmish ensued. At 
first the British were driven back, but it was only for a moment ; 
soon, like an avalanche they burst on Morgan's httle band, crushing 
it before them. Two officers and twenty privates fell into the hands 



HORATIO GATES. 313 

of the enemy, a disastrous beginning for the Americans. But Morgan 
himself escaping, retreated through the woods with the remains of his 
corps, and being reinforced by Dearborn's hght infantry, returned 
bravely to the conflict. Soon also, the regiments of Scammel and 
Cilley, composed of the redoubtable sons of New Hampshire, coming 
up, formed on the left of Morgan, and the whole, stimulating each 
other with cheers, poured down on the British regiments. Like vete- 
ran troops they restrained their fire until close upon the foe. A des- 
perate conflict ensued. Frazer, who had arrived with the right wing 
to succor Burgoyne, hurled his dauntless grenadiers on the American 
line, intending to penetrate it : and so terrible was the onset that the 
troops were checked in full career, the whole front trembling under 
the shock, like a ship struck by a heavy sea. Opportunely at this 
moment, Arnold came up in person with reinforcements, and in turn 
dashed furiously on the foe, cutting his way between the centre and 
right wing, and thus retaliating the manoeuvre of Frazer. Here had 
now met, for the first time, the Hector and Achilles of the respective 
armies ! At the head of his renowned grenadiers, who never yet had 
been defeated, Frazer advanced to the charge, proud that he was 
about to encounter a foe worthy of his fame ; while Arnold, wav- 
ing his sword in the van of his troops, his form towering conspicu- 
ous above the billowy smoke, rushed eagerly to the proffered con- 
flict. The shock of the hostile battalions was awful. They reeled, 
swaying to and fro, and for a few minutes neither gave ground ! 
Sharp and incessant vollies of musketry, fiercer than the most expe- 
rienced veterans had ever heard, rattled through the woods ; while 
the smoke clung around the trees and hid the combatants from sight. 
At last the British grenadiers resorted to their bayonets, and then the 
Americans sullenly fell back. 

The course of the battle had now brought the contending armies 
to the opposite sides of an oblong clearing, right in the heart of the 
woods. This open space contained about fifteen acres, and measured, 
perhaps, sixty rods across from east to west. The field sloped gently 
down towards the south and east. On its north was a thin grove of 
pines, and on its south a dense wood of oaks. At the upper extrem- 
ity, sheltered within that open pine grove, were ranged the British 
ranks, their long line of splendid uniforms relieved by the glittering 
steel of their muskets, setting the foliage a-blaze with crimson. The 
Americans were drawn up in the thick forest at the lower end of the 
clearing, with Arnold at their head. For awhile the two parties 
stood watching each other. It was a welcome breathing spell for 
both. The battle had begun at noon, and it was now three in the 

40 BB 



314 THE HEUOES OF THE REVOLUTIOX. 

afternoon, so that the men were much fatigued, especially those who 
had been among the first to engage. Yet the deadly animosity of the 
foes was not lessened. Neither however, seemed eager to attack 
the other in his stronghold. Tiie British awaited the onset of the 
Americans — the Americans resolved not to lose the advantage of 
their position. Thus, like two wary wrestlers about to engage in 
the ring, each party stood measuring its opponent's thews. 

At last the British, with a shout, rushed from their covert, and 
dashed across the clearing at the Americans. The latter waited until 
the enemy had half traversed the field, when they threw in a suc- 
cession of close and withering vollies. The British staggered, and 
then again advanced. Another volley was now delivered by the 
Americans, and seeing that the assailants halted in confusion, the 
soldiers of Arnold sprang from their coverts, and with loud shouts 
poured down on the foe. The British fled. The Americans pursued. 
With wild huzzas they drove the British across the field and up to 
the very edge of the pine wood. But here received by a fire as deadly 
as their own, they recoiled in turn. Thus fluctuating forwards and 
backwards, charging up the ascent and driving in confusion down, 
the Americans, for some time, gained no permanent advantage. As 
fast as either side left its covert, the vollies of the other side checked 
it ; as fast as the assailing party fell back, the retreating one returned 
to the charge. But finally the British centre began to give way. At 
this critical moment, however, when Arnold almost regarded the 
day as won, a brigade of artillery emerged into the front of the ene- 
my. General Philips, with incredible exertions, had made his way 
from the plain below through the intervening woods, and the British, 
elated by this reinforcement, again rallied and drove the Americans 
a third time across the clearing. 

The contest was now renewed more fiercely than ever. The one 
party was sanguine of success at last; the other was stung to 
phrenzy by seeing victory snatched from its grasp. The Ameri- 
cans fled to their covert, but here paused, and pouring in two or 
three destructive vollies, drove the enemy back. At this, Arnold 
sprang in front, and, calling on his troops to follow, led them, fired 
with rage and enthusiasm, up to the muzzles of the British cannon. 
In vain the clearing was swept by incessant discharges of musketry 
and artillery ; on over the open space, on through the groves of 
pines, on to the very guns of the enemy swept the Americans ! The 
artillerists fled from their pieces or were bayonetted at their post. 
For a few moments the Americans were again victors. Seizing 
the ropes they attempted to drag oflT the cannon ; but the exertion 



HORATIO GATES. 315 

was too great. And now the British, recovering themselves, returned 
to the charge, and the refluent wave of battle again rolled over the 
clearing, and lashed the front of the forest in which the fugitives took 
shelter. Three times the Americans thus dashed at the enemy, 
drove him from his guns, and remained for a space, masters of the 
field ; three times the British, returning to the strife, succeeded in 
redeeming their pieces and beating their assailants back. The car- 
nage was meantime appalling. The oldest veterans from the Ger- 
man wars had seen nothing like it. Thirty-six of the forty-eight 
artillerists had fallen, besides every one of their officers, excepting 
only Lieutenant Hammond. The clearing was covered with nearly 
a thousand fallen and slain. Everywhere around, the trees were 
mangled by cannon balls, while whole limbs, cut off by the shot, 
frequently obstructed the path. 

The sun had now declined towards the west.. His almost level 
beams, breaking through a gap in the woods, made luminous the 
sulphurous canopy that eddied to and fro over that field of blood, 
with every fluctuation of the battle. As his setting approached, the 
strife deepened. The British, rallying all their strength for a last 
effort, again charged across the clearing ; while the Americans, 
reinforced by a fresh regiment, again repulsed them. Twilight 
brought no cessation to the struggle. Still the tide of battle surged 
to and fro over that little enclosure. Still the explosions of artillery, 
like successive eruptions of a volcano, shook the solid hills. At last 
darkness fell upon the scene. One by one the different corps ceased 
fighting. The noise of firing gradually subsided, continuing last on 
the extreme left of the Americans, where Colonel Jackson, with part 
of the Massachusetts troops, had penetrated almost to the enemy's 
rear. Finally the smoke began to lift from the open field, and 
eddy of!', though long after the stars were shining calmly down into 
the clearing, the vapors still clung around the trees, and hung, like 
a white shroud over the piles of slain at the edges of the woods. 
As the evening advanced the whip-poor-will was heard, uttering his 
plaintive wail unseen ; and the British soldiers, to whom the melan- 
choly note was unknown, almost fancied it some sad spirit lamenting 
the dead. 

The British occupied the ground after the battle, and may, there- 
fore, be considered the victors. Yet their triumph was, in effect, a 
defeat ; for Burgoyne had failed in his original design, which was 
to force the American position. It is plain, from what we have 
narrated, that much of the glory of the day belonged to Arnold. 
Gates had scarcely issued an order. In fact, if the earnest messages 



316 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



of Arnold had been attended to, and suitable reinforcements sent 
him, there is little doubt but that Burgoyne would have been 
totally defeated. Gates, however, acted with prudence, for he knew 
that a strong force was in his front, and to have materially weak- " 
ened his own position, would probably have invited an assault. He 
seems to have felt, after the victory, that to Arnold belonged the 
real glory of the day ; but, instead of frankly acknowledging this, he 
meanly suppressed that General's name altogether in his despatches. 
The consequence was an open breach between the two officers, who 
had formerly been warm friends. It is impossible to extenuate the 
conduct of Gates. It evinced all that jealousy and littleness which 
is the true test of conscious inferiority. Not all his chivalrous 
behavior to the unfortunate Burgoyne can make us forget the mean- 
ness of his conduct to the heroic Arnold. 

The two armies remained watching each other until the Sth of 
October. On that day Burgoyne, at the head of fifteen hundred 




SLKKIiNDEK OF BURGOYNE. 



men, executed a movement on the American left, for the purpose of 
covering an extensive forage. The result was another collision be- 
tween the two armies. On this occasion also Arnold was the hero 



HORATIO GATES. 317 

of the fight. The British were repulsed with terrible slaughter and 
the loss of most of their artillery. Arnold, following them up in their 
retreat, stormed them in the entrenchmertts to which they had fled, 
and was wounded when riding triumphantly into a sally port. In 
the night Burgoyne retired to a stronger camp. He next attempted 
to return to Canada. But Gates judiciously enclosing his rear, and 
his provisions failing, he capitulated on the 16th of October. By 
this surrender, more than five thousand prisoners, a park of artillery, 
seven thousand muskets, with an immense quantity of tents and 
military stores fell into the hands of the Americans. Nothing could 
exceed the delicacy with which Burgoyne was treated by his captor. 
Whatever may have been the faults of Gates, a want of courtesy 
was not among the number; and his graceful attentions almost made 
the English General forget his misfortunes. Nor must we be under- 
stood as denyhig to Gates any merit in the capitulation of Saratoga. 
However little he may have shared personally in the two battles of 
Behmis' Heights, the skill with which he managed his army, both 
before and after those contests, deserves high praise. In short, 
though not a great General, he was a skilful commander. 

The conquest of Burgoyne made the partizans of Gates dizzy with 
exultation. Hitherto the career of Washington had been attended 
principally by misfortune, the brilliant aflairs of Trenton and Prince- 
ton forming the only exceptions. He had just lost a battle, by which 
the capital of the nation fell into the enemy's hands; and though his 
defeat had been owing to circumstances beyond his control, many 
were not in a humor to make allowances for this ; and the most un- 
favorable comparisons were, in consequence, drawn by such persons, 
between him and the conqueror of Saratoga. The faction which 
had, from the first, secretly opposed his nomination now raised its 
head openly and prepared to strike. It is impossible to believe that 
Gates himself was not in the secret of this cabal, or at least a sym- 
|)athizer in its views, for he neglected to send Washington an account 
of his victory, but contented himself with reporting to Congress as 
if he had no superior officer. His neglect to do Arnold justice, and 
his insolence to the Commander-in-chief, place his character before 
us, we confess, in a more unfavorable light than it is generally re- 
garded. And how was his conduct to Washington retaliated? 
When misfortune visited Gates, and a fickle Congress was ready to 
sacrifice him, the hero stepped in to save the victim, and not only 
preserved him from wrong, but soothed his injured vanity by the 
gentlest condolence. 

For the capture of Burgoyne, Gates was rewarded by Congress 

BB* 



318 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



with a gold medal. A Board of War was also constituted, at the 
head of which he was placed, with powers that rendered him inde- 




MKDAL PRESENTED BY CONGRESS TO GENERAL GATES. 



pendent of Washington. This Board now became the scene of the 
most abominable intrigues, all aimed at the same point, the removal 
of Washington, and the substitution of Gates in his place. It is 
supposed that the design of the cabal, which is known in history as 
the Conway faction, was to continue to annoy the Commander-in- 
chief, until, in some moment of spleen, he should resign his post. 
One of the measures adopted to this end, was an expedition against 
Canada, which the Board resolved upon without consulting Washing- 
ton. The command of this enterprise was to be given to LaFayette, 
in hopes to detach him from the General-in-chief But the plotters 
soon found that the Marquis was not to be turned from his allegiance, 
and in consequence the Canadian expedition was abandoned, chiefly 
because no longer useful in the way desired. The irUrigues of the 
Conway faction were, soon after, discovered by General Cadwalader, 
who indignantly challenged Conway, and in the duel that followed, 
gave him a wound which was, at first, supposed mortal. In the near 
expectation of death, Conway, stung by remorse, addressed a letter to 
Washington, in which he acknowledged his crime, begged the par- 
don of that august personage, and declared that, in his eyes, the 
Commander-in-chief was '' the great and good man." Conway sub- 
sequently recovered, but did not remain in America. He went to 
France, where he died. The cabal coming by these means to light, 



HORATIO GATES. 319 

such was the indignation of the people, and so odious did its very 
name become, that its members strove to conceal their participation 
in its intrigues, and, in a great measure, succeeded. The conduct of 
the people in this affair is a high testimony to their virtue and gene- 
ral accuracy of judgment. They knew that Washington was the 
man, above all others, to defend their liberties ; and knew it, by that 
instinct, which always guides the mass to the appreciation of the 
true hero. Defeat and misrepresentation failed utterly to lessen their 
confidence in him, notwithstanding that many of the ablest minds in 
the country were shaken in their faith. The result, in the end, proved 
their superior discernment. We question whether the mass ever mis- 
takes a truly great man. There seems, as it were, an electric sym- 
pathy between the soul of the true hero and them, which reveals 
him to them at once ! 

On the 1 3th of June, 1780, after the news of the fall of Charleston, 
Gates was called to the command of the southern army. This choice 
was made without consulting Washington, and the sagacious mind of 
that leader appears to have immediately foreboded the result. Gates 
hastened to assume his new post. The southern army, at that time, 
numbered but fifteen hundred men, and was commanded by the 
Baron de Kalb. It was near Hillsborough, in North Carolina, when 
overtaken by Gates. That personage reached camp in the highest 
spirits. He seemed, in the eyes of unprejudiced observers, to regard 
his name as sufficient alone to paralyze the foe. He began his new 
career by a fatal blunder. The country in which he was to operate 
was one especially favorable for cavalry, yet, instead of assisting 
Colonels Washington and White in re'cruiting their troops, he cava- 
lierly dismissed both those officers, and set out on his march with 
only Armand's corps. On the footsteps of this first, he committed 
another capital error. Two roads lay open to reach the foe ; one, 
the most direct, over a desolate country ; the other, more circuitous, 
through comparatively fertile districts ; yet he chose the former. If 
his army had been composed solely of veterans, long inured to pri- 
vation, perhaps the shorter road would have been the best. But as 
all the accessions to his force were of raw troops, he should have 
taken the longer and more easy route, both that he might have time 
to discipline them, and that they might be kept in the highest possi- 
ble condition. Gates appears to have fancied that it was only 
necessary for him to find the enemy. Of the possibility of defeat he 
never thought. It had been made a subject of reproach against him 
by captious critics, that he had starved out Burgoyne, when it would 
have been as easy to have conquered him outright ; and the victor 



320 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

was resolved not to give occasion again for such strictures. He 
would, like Caesar, write " veni, vidi, vici," and then the measure 
of his glory would be full ! 

The Baron de Kalb would have been the guardian angel of the 
inflated General, if the self-sufficiency of the one could have paid 
even ordinary deference to the grey hairs of the other. The Baron 
recommended a cautious policy, and was in favor of the more cir- 
cuitous route. The result verified his predictions. The troops 
were nearly famished for food ; they had scarcely any bread, or even 
meal ; a few cattle, caught wild in the woods, aftbrded the chief 
sustenance. Owing to the unwholesome swamps they traversed, as 
well as to the want of proper nourishment, a train of fatal diseases 
followed the army, destroying many of the men, and debiUtating 
more. At last Gates reached Clermont, from which place Lord 
Rawdon withdrew on his approach. It would be unjust not to 
allow that the American General had displayed the highest energy 
in the prosecution of his march. He had indeed proved himself 
above yielding to difficulties. But, at the same time, he had shame- 
fully neglected all precautionary measures. Though joined by nume- 
rous bodies of militia, whom his renown brought to his standard, he 
made scarcely any effort to train them, and left the discipline of the 
camp to take care of itself. He spared neither the health nor the 
spirits of his men. In short, he pressed forward as if he had but 
one object in view, to catch the enemy, if possible, before he could 
shut himself up in Charleston. 

Lord Rawdon had, at first, retired upon Camden. To the vicinity 
of this place Gates now followed. On his approach, however, 
Rawdon, instead of retreating further, advanced to Lynch's Creek, 
about fifteen miles in front ; and, for four days, the armies continued 
watching each other, separated only by this slender stream. At the 
end of this period, a movement of Gates against the enemy's left, 
induced Rawdon to retire on Camden once more. Gates, slowly 
advancing, took post at Rudgely's mill, which the enemy had just 
abandoned. Here he was joined by General Stevens, at the head 
of seven hundred Virginia militia ; and from this point he detached 
four hundred regulars to reinforce Sumpter, a fatal error, unless he 
considered Rawdon sure to retreat before him. If he had been 
governed by the same sagacious views of the nature of the contest 
as Lord Cornwallis, he would, instead of weakening his army, have 
waited until it was strengthened by further reinforcements, satisfied 
that his enemy, and not himself, would lose by delay, Cornwallis, 
who had meantime arrived at Camden, saw this, and resolved to 



HORATIO GATES. 321 

seek Gates, in order to give him instant battle. He had indeed but 
two thousand men, while the American General had nearly four • 
but the latter was in the midst of his resources, while the former 
was far from them. Moreover, the British army was composed 
chiefly of regulars, that of Gates mostly of militia. Accordingly, on 
the 16th of August, the British General marclied out from Camden. 
Gates, still confident of success, had left Rudgely's mills the same 
day, on his way to Saunder's Creek, seven miles from Camden. 
The two armies, to their mutual surprise, met about one o'clock at 
night. Each took some prisoners and learned the motives of the 
other; when, by mutual consent, they drew off and awaited the 
dawn. At daybreak the battle began. The story of that melan- 
choly day we have already told at sufficient length. Gates, on the 
eve of the contest, appears to have hesitated for the first time. He 
called a council of his officers, and desired to know what was best 
to be done. For some time no one spoke, but finally General 
Stevens remarked, " that it was now too late to retreat." This was 
all that was said. The silence continuing, Gates broke up the unsat- 
isfactory council with the words, " then we must fight — gentlemen, 
please to take your posts." 

After a vain attempt to redeem his errors, by rallying the fugitive 
militia, the defeated commander gave the reins to his horse and 
galloped from the fatal field. He has been censured for not remain- 
ing to share death with the brave de Kalb, But, when Gates left 
the scene of disaster, he believed the rout final, the thick fog com- 
pletely concealing from his sight the Maryland and Delaware 
regiments. Accompanied only by a few friends, the prostrate con- 
queror fled to Charlotte, eighty miles distant, without dismounting. 
Soon after he continued his flight to Salisbury, and subsequently to 
Hillsborough. He left, however, Smallwood and Gist at the former 
place to collect the dispersed continentals who had survived the 
fight ; for little hope existed of rallying the militia, that species of 
force always making the best of their way home after a disaster. 
At Hillsborough, a hundred and eighty miles from the scene of battle, 
he felt himself in comparative safety. Here, with a resolution that 
sheds a momentary gleam across his darkening fortunes, he began 
immediately to collect reinforcements, expressing his determination 
not to abandon the contest, but return and face the foe. He had 
partially succeeded in restoring confidence, when, on the 5th of 
October, he was removed from his command, and an inquiry ordered 
into his conduct. Congress now called on Washington to nominate 
his successor. The Commander-in-chief promptly replied by select- 
41 



322 THE HKROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

ing General Greene. The new commander as promptly began his 
journey, and arrived in the camp of Gates on the 2nd of December, 
where he was received by the fallen General with a dignity and 
fortitude which extorts admiration. Greene, on his part, with deli- 
cate forbearance, paid his predecessor the compliment of continuing 
his orders of the day. 

The reverse of Gates is one of those mysterious events which affect 
the mind with a profound sense of retributive justice. Great as had 
been the folly that produced the rout of Camden, his worst enemies 
could see nothing of criminality in his conduct. His actions had 
been the result of a mind made dizzy by success; but no worse accu- 
sation could be brought against him. Yet, as in his prosperity he 
had been unjust to others, so, in adversity there were many unjust 
to him. The wrongs of Arnold were now being fearfully avenged. 
As he travelled north, on his way to his residence in Virginia, no- 
thing but scowling, or at best gloomy faces welcomed him. The 
odium of his defeat had gone before him, and rendered even his best 
friends cold. His reception deeply affected his spirits. He who had 
once been so cordial in his manners, was now grave and reserved. 
Notwithstanding his assumption of fortitude in public, in private, it 
is said, he keenly felt his degradation. At last he reached Richmond. 
Here the first word of condolence he had received, greeted his wel- 
come ears. The Assembly was then in session, and a committee 
was appointed to assure the desponding General of " their high re- 
gard and esteem, and that their remembrance of his former glorious 
services was never to be obliterated by any reverse of fortune." 
Washington also, though so much injured by Gates, extended his 
sympathy to the unhappy fugitive, and sought, with disinterested 
kindness, to assuage the sharp pang of misfortune, by compassion- 
ately deferring assembling the court of inquiry. 

Thus closed the military career of Horatio Gates. In depicting 
it we have sought to be governed by exact justice. He was, in our 
opinion, neither a very good nor a very bad man ; neither an able 
General, nor one wholly the reverse. His character suggests no idea 
so forcibly as that of elegant mediocrity. After the termination of 
the war he resided in Virginia until 1789, when he manumitted his 
slaves and removed to New York. He took little part in public af- 
fairs. Once, and once only, he emerged from his retirement. This 
was in 1800, when he served a single term in the Legislature. He 
died on the 10th of April, 1806, leaving no posterity. 




^Sc ©[El?3c 



^lP7^^^ 




SlIIPi'KN'S llOLSE, WHERE GENERAL ARNOLD WAS -MABRtRD. 



BENEDICT ARNOLD 




ENEDICT Arnold was the 
solitary traitor of the Revo- 
lution. Yet it has been the 
fashion of late to extenuate 
his treason. It is argued 
that he had great tempta- 
tions; that his passions were 
violent ; that he was wrong- 
'iifTtp ed by Congress, in rank, 
^^\^ , m fortune, and good name. 
But they know little of hu- 
,-T-~P-j;,^.^^vi- man nature who suppose 
fv^j^^ '^^ criminals are such from 
-7 mere wantonness only. — 
^^7"-^^ Guilt always has a cause. 
^^T^ The difference between 
Z^ - wickedness and honesty is 
not that one is tempted, and 
the other goes free, but that one yields while the other resists. There 
was more than one officer in the army who suffered as great mdig- 



324 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTIOX. 

nities as Arnold, yet he alone sought revenge in betraying his coun- 
try. His moral obliquity was the cause of his fall. He, whose 
romantic courage and intrepidity in the early years of the war, had 
lifted his name on a pinnacle of glory, suffered himself at last, in the 
gratification of an unholy hatred, to be hurried into acts which pre- 
cipitated him from his lofty elevation, and buried him forever in the 
gulf of the traitor. We never recall the name of Arnold, without 
thinking of that Lucifer, who, like him, found ruin in his impetuous 
ambition. 

« So call him now — His former name 
Is heard no more in heaven." 

The character of Arnold is no riddle, as many suppose. On the 
contrary, it is of a very ordinary kind, though not always found in 
such exaggeration. It united great force with even greater depravity. 
But the heart of man is his balance-wheel, and if it be wrong, the 
whole machine runs wild. Arnold had no controlling moral princi- 
ples. As boy and man he would have his way, reckless of the means, 
so that he succeeded. Impetuous, daring, energetic, with a will that 
carried everything before it, yet wholly destitute of principle or honor, 
he was like some terrible wild beast, let loose to work his pleasure 
in a crowd, without chain or keeper. If nothing opposed him, all 
went well : but if his path was crossed, hell itself was roused to his 
aid. There was something colossal in the energy with which he 
pursued an object, something awful in his fierceness: like the fabled 
mammoth, when he advanced he crushed everything mercilessly 
down. His almost delirious fury on the battle-field of Saratoga is 
an illustration of this. Raging across the plain, the foe scattering 
wherever he appeared, what was he even then but the same pas- 
sionate and headlong man who, when afterwards opposed by Con- 
gress, rushed, in a phrenzy of hatred, to avenge himself by bartering 
his country. Arnold was consistent throughout his whole career. 
In his boyish pastimes, a heedless bully ; in his commercial days, a 
reckless speculator ; was it to be wondered at if, in the higher walks 
of after life, he played out his part ? From first to last he acted 
without moral restraint. From first to last he had a will to convulse 
empires. The heroism of Arnold was that of vast physical courage, 
set in motion and hurried forward by a fiery soul. His treason, on 
the contrary, was only a new phase of that moral obliquity which 
had attended him through life. If Arnold's guilt is to be extenuated, 
it would be a mockery to punish crime ! 

Benedict Arnold was born at Norwich, Connecticut, on the 3rd 



BENEDICT ARNOLD. 325 

of January, 1 740. As a boy he was characterized by cruelty, bad 
temper, and an indifference to the opinions of others. He would 
maim young birds in sight of the parents, in order to be amused by 
the cries of the latter. He scattered broken pieces of glass near the 
school house door that the children might cut their feet. Conduct 
like this evinced a greater degree of innate brutality than belongs to 
boys ordinarily. As he grew up he betrayed dispositions, in other 
respects, painful to his friends. He ran away and enHsted in the 
army, but being placed on garrison duty, he found its restraints too 
great, and deserted. At the age of manhood he began business as 
a druggist in New Haven. The energy which had always charac- 
terized him, being, for a while, confined in a legitimate channel, his 
profits increased ; and finally he added the pursuit of a general mer- 
chant to his earlier avocation. He began to trade with the West 
Indies, and commanded his own vessels. Diverging into speculation, 
he finished with insolvency. In addition to this, his irascible, impetu- 
ous and unprincipled disposition continually plunged him into quar- 
rels, in one of which, while in the West Indies, he fought a duel 
with a Frenchman. Numerous anecdotes are preserved of this 
period of his life, but they all resolve themselves into two classes, 
and either exemplify his energy and daring, or else betray his obli- 
quity of moral purpose. 

In 1775, after the battle of Lexington, Arnold marched at the 
head of sixty men from New Haven to Cambridge. Before setting 
out, he called on the selectmen for ammunition, but they refused the 
keys of the magazine, on which Arnold, with characteristic daring, 
answered that, if the keys were not surrendered, he would break 
open the doors. When he arrived at head-quarters he proposed to 
the Massachusetts Committee of Safety the capture of Fort Ticon- 
deroga, and that body adopting his plan, and furnishing him with a 
Colonel's commission, he hastened forward to his destination. His 
intention had been to raise recruits in the western part of the state, 
but on arriving there he heard of the similar project of the committee 
of the Connecticut Legislature, and instantly pressed forward to 
Castleton, where the New Hampshire volunteers were, in order to 
assert his superior right to the command. The friends of Ethan 
Allen, however, would not serve under Arnold, and in the end the 
latter consented to waive his claims, and act as a volunteer. He 
entered the gate of the fort, in the assault, side by side with Allen. 
Subsequently he captured a royal sloop and some galleys. His con- 
duct throughout was marked by energy, intrepidity and military 
tbrecast; bat also by arrogance, impetuosity, and an arbitrary 

cc 



326 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

demeanor. Even at this early period, the seeds of his subsequent 
disgrace were sown. Immediately after the capture of Ticonderoga 
he produced his commission, and claimed the command of the fort ; 
but as the followers of Allen, as well as the Connecticut Committee 
still refused his claims, he withdrew sullenly to Crown Point, where 
he assumed supreme control. His presumption was represented in 
exaggerated terms to the Massachusetts authorities, who despatched 
a committee of inquiry to examine his conduct. The indignation of 
Arnold blazed up at such a procedure, and he angrily resigned his 
commission. His services had been of value, and, perhaps, were not 
justly rewarded ; but if he had possessed less selfish ambition, he 
would have been less enraged. The war of independence was not 
one in which mere personal ends ought to have been sought. Its 
true heroes were all self-denying men. 

In the ensuing autumn Arnold offered to lead an expedition across 
the wilderness of Maine, in order to penetrate into Canada from an 
unexpected quarter, and try the effect of a surprise on Quebec. The 
route was one of incredible difficulty, and had never been travelled 
except by small parties. But its very dangers recommended it to 
Arnold : he burned to do something beyond ordinary daring : and, 
having received the concurrence of Washington, he began his march, 
on the 16th of September, with about a thousand men. For six 
weeks the expedition toiled on amid perils and privations that would 
have disheartened common leaders. Over rugged mountains, through 
inhospitable forests, and down rivers foaming with terrific cataracts 
the little army pursued its way, the men often being compelled to 
carry their boats for miles from portage to portage, and sometimes 
passing days in succession drenched to the skin by rain. On one 
occasion several of the batteaux were upset, a large stock of provi- 
sions lost, and the crews nearly drowned. In consequence of this 
accident food became scarce. The troops continually lost themselves, 
moreover, in the labyrinthine woods. Exhausted with incessant 
labor, and weak for want of necessary nourishment, many of the 
men became sick, and were unable to proceed further. The unfor- 
tunate sufferers, in such cases, were left in rude huts, composed of 
the branches of trees, with a companion to tend them, while the rest 
pressed forward ; for to have lingered would have ensured death by 
starvation. Day after day elapsed, yet the settlements did not 
appear. The sun rose, after nights of hunger and fever, on another 
day of toil and privation ; and as he mounted to the zenith, the 
travellers clambered up the lofty trees, and strove to catch a sight 
of some friendly smoke in that vast wilderness. But noon came, 



BENEDICT ARNOLD. 327 

and night succeeded ; and still there was no hope. Another day rose 
and departed ; stiU no signs of succor ! The men dropped along 
the route, but, remembering that to despair was to perish, rose and 
struggled on as they best could. Soon the travellers were scauered 
over a distance of thirty miles. Despair was fast gathering around 
every heart. In this awful emergency Arnold showed all the qual- 
ities of a great leader, by sharing the privations of the lowest, by- 
assisting to draw the batteaux, by hurrying to and fro to cheer the 
men along that extended line. At last, tiinging himself into a light 
canoe, he embarked on the angry waters of the Chaudiere, and, in 
three days, after being in continual peril amid its boiling , and foam- 
ing current, arrived at Sertigan, the first French settlemen^n Canada. 
His appearance filled the simple inhabitants with awe. They 
regarded him and his companions almost as some superior beings, 
having ever considered the wilderness impassable unless for soli- 
tary hunters. Tradition still preserves, in the secluded vallies of 
that district, the memory of that audacious enterprise, and old men. 
with grey heads shaking as they rehearse it, tell the miraculous 
story of the "descent of the Bostonians." 

Arnold now despatched succors to the rear, and booths were 
erected with refreshments, so that the famished members of the ex- 
pedition, as they came in, might find instant relief. He then pro- 
ceeded down the river to conciliate the inhabitants. Success crowned 
his efforts. Too recently conquered to have become reconciled to 
their yoke, the French inhabitants of Canada welcomed the Ameri- 
cans as deliverers ; while the Americans on their part, obeying the 
instructions of Washington, paid the highest respect to the prejudices 
of the Canadians and liberally paid for supplies. Having recruited 
his men by a short delay, Arnold pushed on toward Quebec, hoping 
to take that city by surprise. But a messenger whom he had 
despatched in advance to some friends in the town, having proved 
a traitor and delivered the letters to the Governor, the garrison was 
found in a state of preparation. Arnold, however, climbed the 
heights of Abraham and drawing up his troops on the plain, gave 
three cheers, not in idle bravado as some have supposed, but in 
hopes to draw the English from their entrenchments. The command- 
er, however, was too prudent to endanger the loss of the place, and 
obstinately remained within his walls. Arnold now retired to Point 
aux Trembles, twenty miles above Quebec, where he was soon 
joined by Montgomery ; and the two, uniting their forces, moved 
down again to renew the attempt. The story of that desperate, 
but gallant assault, need not be repeated here. It is sullicient 



328 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



to say that Montgomery" fell and Arnold was wounded, while the 
attack was repulsed with little loss to the besieged. The block- 




ade of Quebec, however, was continued until May, 1776. During 
a portion of this period Arnold was Governor of Montreal, whither 
he retired in sullen disgust at the coldness of General Wooster, who 
liad arrived from the states and superseded him in the command. 
Gradually the Americans were compelled to relinquish one post after 
another in Canada, until on the 18th of June, the army permanently 
abandoned that country. In the retreat, Arnold led the rear, and 
like Ney in Russia, was the last man to retire. The story of his 
conduct on this occasion is as picturesque as any in romance. When 
the army was about to sail for Crown Point, Arnold remained be- 
hind to superintend the embarkation. At last every boat had left 
except his own ; he then mounted his horse and attended only by a 
single Aid-de-camp, rode back two miles, until the advancing legions 
of the enemy were distinctly visible. Drawing in his rein, he gazed 
at them for a short time, and, when his curiosity was satisfied, has- 
tened back to St. Johns. The boat was in waiting, and the men 
anxious to be gone ; for already the evening gun of the enemy 
echoed among the neighboring hills. The horses were stripped and 
shot, and Arnold, pushing off the boat with his own hands, leaped 
on board ; the men sprang to their oars, and the light craft, skim- 



BENEDICT ARNOLD. 329 

miiig rapidly away, was soon lost in the gathering obscurity of the 
night. 

On the news of Arnold's gallant behavior at Quebec, Congress had 
appointed him a Brigadier. This new rank opened to his ambitious 
soul a wider career of glory ; but the higher he soared, the loftier 
grew his aspirations, and the prouder his daring ! On the retreat of the 
army to Ticonderoga, he was appointed to command a small fleet on 
Lake Champlain, destined to harass, and, if possible, baffle the 
approach of the British, who, in numerous galleys, were preparing 
to advance down the lake. A better choice of a leader for this little 
navy, could not have been made. Arnold's voyages to the West 
Indies had given him a sufficient knowledge of maritine affairs to 
answer his present purpose, and besides, the smallness of the vessels 
"would render the combats rather like the hand to hand conflicts of 
knightly times than the sea-fights of modern warfare. Perhaps, 
no man ever lived more fitted to distinguish himself in such melees 
than Benedict Arnold. It was not long before he heard of the pre- 
sence of an English fleet in the lake, and sallying out boldly, although 
he knew the enemy to be superior, he soon became engaged in a 
desperate strife. His own force consisted of three schooners, two 
sloops, three galleys and eight gondolas; the enemy had one three- 
masted vessel, two schooners, a radeau, one gondola, and twenty 
gun-boats. For some hours the battle raged furiously notwithstand- 
ing the vast disproportion of numbers, for the wind not allowing all 
the vessels on either side to be engaged, the Americans had even 
a smaller relative force in battle than that enumerated above. Dur- 
ing the action Arnold was the chief stay of his little fleet. He pointed 
almost every gun that was fired from his galley, and stimulated his 
crev/ by a constant exposure of his person. Both his own vessel 
and that of his second in command were terribly shattered. The 
number of killed and wounded was enormous, considering the small 
force engaged. Every officer on board of one of the gondolas, ex- 
cept the captain, was killed, and another gondola sank soon after the 
conflict. 

Night now fell around the scene of strife, and the smoke which 
had lain packed upon the water, gradually eddied off and thinned 
imperceptibly away. But no stars were in the cloudy sky. This 
was, however, a fortunate circumstance for Arnold, as it enabled him 
to put in execution a design which the ruined condition of his fleet 
and the disparity of his forces rendered inevitable. This was to re- 
turn to Crown Point. But as the enemy had anchored their vessels 
in a line from shore to shore in order to prevent his retreat, the 
42 cc* 



3;<0 Tiiv. hkkih:s tn' riii; r.K\ oi.r rui\, 

maiurnvrt^ would. lu-riiaps, havo hccn iinpossibK" hut tor \\\c \\\\or- 
ing obstnu'ily oi tho night. A broe/o iVom the north springing u[>, 
tho crippK'il navy got under woigli. Arni>ld, as usual, brought up 
the rear. Not a sound was Iieanl e\ei>pt tlie rip[)le ot' the water 
under the galley's stern, and tlie sough ol' the wind among the pino 
trees on the shore, as this gallant eral't,briugingup the line, stood boldly 
o\\ between the twi> prini'ipal vessels ot' the foe. Kven the tread ot 
the sentry on bi>ard the British shij^s emiUl be distinguished. At last 
tl\e ir;>untlet was satelv run. and spreading all sail, the lleet sped 
swil'tly up the lake. Hut wluMi it had i>riH'eeiletl about twelve uiiK'S 
it was I'oretul to come to ain'lun- in order to stop leaks, and betort> it 
wasreat.lv to advann^ again, tlu' wind ilit-d awav and then came out 
batlling tVom the south. 'I'he ships eouKl not all sail alike, and some 
necessarily tell behind. Hy the secoiul moriung at'ler the battle, the 
pursuing enemy overtook the rear ol" the t'ngitives. A tVesh civiitlict 
iMisued. The t'oree ot' i\\c Hriiish was so overjnnvering that soon 
the galley of Arnold was the only one that had not surrendered. For 
four hours, a ship o\' eighteen guns, a schooner of fourteen, and 
another of twelve, pouretl a coiicentrii' lire on his solitary cralt; ami 
for four hours Arnold relurneil the uiKnpial cannonaile, the crater, as 
it were, of a blazini: volcano. At last his vesst^l. reduced almost to 
a wriH'k, was surroiiuded b\' si'\ en hostiK> sail. In tins situalitMi, 
Arnold ran his galley with the t'onrgondolas ashore in a small stream 
near the scene o[' conllict. and setting tire to them, ordered the ma- 
rines [o leap (Mil. wade to land aiul line the bank in ordiM' to keep 
otf the enemy. The onler was laitht'ully executed. Arnold remamed 
alone ou board mitil sun^ that the tlames could not be extinguished, 
then, leaving the tlaiis thing in iletiance, he sprang into the water 
and marched sword in haiul to shore. 

This series oi brilliant deeds gave Arm^Kl an unei|ualled popula- 
rity with the people. His name was on eviM'y tontine. The distant 
vallies ol Pemisylvania as well as the villages of iiis native New 
England, rimg with phuulits; ami a hundreil anecdotes were passed 
from tongue to tongue, ol' his suirerings in the wilderness, of liis 
daniulessness at Quebec, ol his dazzling heroism on Lake Champlain. 
Men saiil that what others dared to propose he dared to execute • 
that there was notiiing he would not attempt, and lew things he 
could not achieve. Where tiie strife raged fiercest, there, they de- 
clared, his sword tiamed highest, as of old the white j^lume of Henry 
of Navarre danced on the surge of battle. Arnold km>w that this 
was his reputation ; biU he knew also that many envied him. There 
were ninner«ms oliicers in tho army who were as selfish as himself 



UKNKDIC'I' AllNOI.I). .'{31 

bill li:i(l iiofK! of his iMi[)(;tii()iis hr.'i very ; ;uir] tlidSf;, with t.lif;ir friends 
ill and out (»f (Joiigii.'ss, waited only an o|)[)ortiinity to injure liim. 
It was not lon^^ wanting. Even boforo the naval battle of Lake 
(jhariiplain, a eoniplaint had been made against Arn<jld in referenc<i 
to some goods wliieli he had carried oil' from Montreal in his (jflieial 
riapacity, and though, ]>erhaps, there was notfiing criminal in Fiis 
conduct, it was sudiciently irregular to allord a handle for his ene- 
mies. Unfortunately n»;ilher Arnold's former character as a mer- 
chant, nor his present reputation in rnonied transactions were of a 
kind to discountenance such a charge, hut rather tended to confirm 
it. In addition to this, his lianglify and arrogant demeanor liad ren- 
dered iiim disagreea bit; t<j his military associates; and these latter, 
by their letters t(» meml^ers of Congress, spread the same dislike to 
Arnolij abroad which existed in tlie camp. The conse<juence was 
that, when a new list of M;ij(jr-(ienerals was made out, Arnold was 
neglected and younger olllc(;rs a.pj>ointed in his stead. A case is 
lialf lost already wiien the prejiidicr^s of th<! public are enlisted 
against either jjarty. Arnold was in tliis unfortunate situation. Nor 
was h<; a man wIkj, when 1h; foiiiuJ the current setting against liini, 
would endeavor to conciliate his enemies or the {jiihlic ; but on the. 
contrary, carrying his impetuosity in battle into private life, he strove 
to forc(! his antagonists into suhmission. This was the course he now 
adopt(;d. At once he called in the; jiuhlic as his arbiters, and complain- 
ed to th(;ni of his services and his neglect, 'i'his defiant conduct, as 
might hav(; been expected, only increased the virulence of his ene- 
mies, lie lost his temper too, in all such controversies; and the 
'more he was wronged, the angrier he recriminated. Instead of wait- 
hiig prude-iitly until the sense of the people should compel his enemies 
to do him justice, he stormed against Congress with a violence 
amounting almost to insanity, and which disgusted even his friends. 
Instead of imitating the example of Schuyler, who, when superseded 
in the moment of victory, stifled his resentment and patriotically 
assisted Gat(js, Arnold, wlien overlooked in the promotions, dinned 
into the ears of the nation his selfish complaints, and exposed his 
wounds ostentatiously to the piiblic gaze, like a ragged mendicant 
on the highway. 

Washington was the only man that could control this haughty and 
imprudent spirit. He understood perfectly the fiery impetuosity of 
Arnold, and if he misjudged him at all it was in charitably estimat- 
ing his moral character too favorably. He gave wise counsel to the 
irritated General in this emergency — counsel which, if always fol- 
lowed by Arnold, would have saved his name from future infamy, 



332 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

And, for a while, Arnold listened to Washington, and obeyed his 
better angel. The Commander-in-chief now took up his part, and 
wrote to Congress in relation to the affair; and Arnold himself, about 
this time having gallantly repulsed a predatory incursion of the Bri- 
tish in Connecticut, that body, at last, listened to his claims and ele- 
vated him to the rank of JMajor-General. He was not, however, 
placed above the juniors of whose promotion he had been complain- 
ing, and the guerdon accordingly, as it fell short of his wishes, was 
received with angry reproaches. Indeed, to a nature like Arnold's, 
this half reluctant and incomplete justice was a source of constant irri- 
tation : it worked like a thorn in his soul, continually festering, and 
from that day to the hour of his suicidal ruin, it kept him in a state of 
morbid excitement, which first hurried him on, a madman, to Beh- 
mis' Heights, and afterwards precipitated him, a traitor, into infamy 
and ruin. Yet we do not urge these things as a defence of his con- 
duct. Had not a mere selfish ambition actuated him, he would never 
had betrayed his country for robbing him of rank. We only ana- 
lyze his character. 

Another difficulty, meantime, arose between him and Congress. 
By the peculiarity of his situation, during the two last campaigns, 
he had been compelled to act not only in the capacity of commander, 
but of Commissary and Paymaster also. He now presented his ac- 
counts for settlement, and claimed a large balance in his favor. As 
it was known that he entered the service poor, men asked how he 
came to accumulate such a sum. On examining his statement it was 
found to contain several extravagant charges in his own behalf, 
some of them of a dubious character, and others clearly unreasona- 
ble. The authorities naturally hesitated to settle such accounts. 
His enemies in Congress openly charged him with endeavoring to 
swindle the public, nor could his friends consistently defend conduct 
so evidently wrong. At last, finding the committee not disposed to 
make a report in his favor, and discovering that the friends of the 
other Major-Generals were too strong for him to attain the rank he 
desired, in a fit of impetuous anger he sent in his resignation, declar- 
ing that he was driven to do this by a sense of the injustice he had 
suffered, and averring that " honor was a sacrifice no man ought to 
make." But he had scarcely despatched the document when intel- 
ligence of the fall of Ticonderoga was received, and immediately 
after Washington wrote to Congress, recommending that Arnold 
should be sent to the northern army. " He is active, judicious 
and brave," said the Conmiander-in-chief, "and an officer in whom 
the militia will repose great confidence." The offer of the appoint- 



BENEIJICT ARNOLD. 333 

ment conciliated Arnold. He declared that he would go at once to 
Schuyler's army and trust to the justice of Congress for his reparation. 

He reached the northern army a few days before the evacuation of 
Fort Edward, and while there heard that Congress had finally dis- 
allowed his claim to be advanced over the other Major-Generals. 
He again determined to resign, but was prevented by the coun- 
sels of Schuyler. When the army fell back to Stillwater, intelligence 
arrived of the sanguinary battle of Oriskany, in which General Her- 
kimer had lost his life ; and Arnold promptly volunteered to lead an 
expedition to the relief of Fort Leger, now blockaded by the victo- 
rious foe. A stratagem played otf by Arnold led the enemy to sup- 
pose that his force was far greater than it was; and the British, with- 
out waiting for a conflict retreated in confusion. After an absence 
of twenty days Arnold returned to camp. He found the army, 
under the command of Gates, had retreated and taken post just 
above the confluence of the Mohawk and Hudson; but a few days 
after, the enemy still occupying Saratoga, the Americans retraced 
their steps and occupied Behmis' Heights. A week subsequently the 
battle of Stillwater was fought. This action lasted from noon until 
night and was contested chiefly by Arnold's division. 

Directly after the battle, Gates withdrew a part of Arnold's divi- 
sion, without the latter's knowledge. At this Arnold was extremely 
indignant, as it placed him in the light, he said, of presuming to give 
orders which were contravened by the general orders of the Com- 
mander-in-chief. In his despatches respecting the battle of Stillwater, 
Gates had overlooked Arnold's division altogether, merely stating 
that the struggle was carried on by detachments from the army. At 
this, too, Arnold was justly indignant. " Had my division behaved 
ill," he said, " the other division of the army would have thought it 
extremely hard to have been amenable for their conduct." An angry 
altercation ensued between the two Generals. Gates insinuated that, 
on Lincoln's arrival, he should take away Arnold's division from 
him. Arnold demanded a pass for himself and suite to join Wasli- 
ington. Gates haughtily complied with the request. But Arnold, on 
reconsideration, thinking he would hazard his reputation by a depar- 
ture on the eve of battle, remained, though stripped of his command, 
without any employment in camp, and in open hostility with the Ge- 
neral-in-chief. The censure of this afl'air nmst be equally divided 
between Gates and Arnold. The former was arrogant and tyraiuii- 
cal ; the latter insolent and presuming. The one was jealous of the 
glory won by his subordinates; the other not unwilling to supplant 
his superior in renown. 



334 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

The quarrel remained in this condition when the second battle of 
Behmis' Heights occurred, on the 7th of October, 1777. The action 
was begun by a detachment, fifteen hundred strong, headed by 
Burgoyne in person, directed against the left of the American posi- 
tion. Gates instantly determhied to cut this force off from the main 
body, and accordingly hurled his masses against its left ; while a 
strong body of troops was despatched to get into its rear. An attack 
was also made on the British riglit, so that the conflict now became 
general along the whole line. As Arnold had no command, he 
remained chafing in his own tent, but when the roar of battle ^in- 
creased, unable to endure the inaction longer, he rushed out, and 
mounting a borrowed charger, rode, for some time in excitement 
around the camp, and then galloped to the field without orders. The 
animal he rode was a beautiful Spanish mare, celebrated for her 
fleetness of foot, and all eyes in the camp were soon turned on the 
spirited steed and its rider as they scoured the distance between the 
lines and the army. The instant Gates recognized Arnold, he turned 
angrily to Major Armstrong and commanded him to bring the fugi- 
tive General back. But Arnold, divining his message, would not 
allow Armstrong to overtake him. Dashing into the hottest of the 
fight whenever his pursuer approached, he lost himself amid the 
smoke, until at last the latter abandoned the erratic chase in despair. 
Arnold now had the field before him. He was without orders, the orficer 
of highest rank in the action. Plunging hither and thither through 
the apparently involved strife, issuing directions for which his former 
renown as well as his rank ensured obedience, he became from that 
moment the master spirit of the fight. The most wonderful accounts 
are handed down, by tradition, of his intrepidity. The prodigies of 
valor he performed surpass the boundaries of romance. A reckless- 
ness allied to phrenzy seemed to have possessed him, and he hurled 
himself continually on the solid masses of the foe, scattering terror 
and confusion wherever he came. 

His example was contagious. Storming over the field like a 
whirlwind, he swept his men with him wherever he went, here rend- 
ing and splitting the ranks of the enemy, there dashing them head- 
long before his track. It is said, by some, that he was intoxicated, 
by others that he acted under the influence of opium. But it was 
not so. Passions wrought to their highest pitch by his late quarrel, 
ambition fearing a fall, rage seeking an outlet, revenge burning for 
distinction, all these feelings, flaming in his bosom at once, fired him 
to a madness that surpassed that of any physical excitement, and 



nCNEDlCT AUNOLD. 



335 



ilio tempest of tlie elements. In this phrenzy he did acts of which 
alterwards he had no rccollectioi). An ollicer luisitating to obey liis 
orders, he strnck the man over the head with his sword; yet, tiic 
next day Arnold had lorgolten it. On one; occasion, having to crosjn 







"gs^;. 



AKNULU AT BmiMlC lll^K.in'b. 



the field, he wheeled his steed in front of his own men, and dashed 
down the wliole length of the line, opposed to both fires. Gallop- 
ing to and fro, his voice rising above the shattering noise of battle, 
he stimulated to great deeds wherever he came. As the Britisli, 
finding their retreat about to be cut oft", began to retire, Arnold came 
up at the head of three regiments, and fell, like a thunderbolt, on 
their line. Recoiling before this fierce onset, the enemy strove no 
longer to keep his ground, but only to reach his camp before the 
pursuing Americans ; while Arnold cheering his men by words and 
by the most heroic expostu'e of liis person, raged furiously in lus rear. 



336 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLrTION. 

At last Burgoyne gained his entrenchments; but even here he was 
not safe ! Arnold came foaming on, and soon reaching the foot of 
the lines, lashed them incessantly. Night gradually fell, yet still the 
assault continued. In vain the British swept his ranks with mus- 
ketry and grape ; in vain a thousand bayonets bristled above the 
works ; still waving his sword at the head of his troops, and excit- 
ing them with enthusiastic appeals, he led them up to the very mouth 
of the artillery, drove back the appalled defenders, and was entering 
the sally-port, when a grape shot shattered his leg, and killing his 
horse under him, he fell helpless to the ground. 

But he had conquered. He had made himself the hero of the 
day. Wounded, but exulting he was borne from the field ; and 
soon after the attack closed on all sides, for with his departure 
the master-spirit had vanished. Darkness fell upon the scene ; the 
smoke gradually lifting from the field, slowly eddied away ; but in 
the dim obscurity, only an undistinguishable mass of broken artil- 
lery wagons, shattered carriages and heaps of dead were discernible. 
But, it was known that the enemy were everywhere driven back ; 
and far over the valley lights were seen, which told that the Ameri- 
cans were established in the Hessian camp. As the wounded hero 
lay on his couch, news was brought him that the army attributed to 
him the chief glory of the day. The welcome intelligence compen- 
sated him for his suffering. His proud soul swelled with the thought 
that though deprived of his command and sought to be disgraced by 
his superior, he had plucked the laurels from the brow of Gates ; 
and, in the sanguine exhilaration of the hour, he looked forward 
to a long career of glory and to a triumph over all his enemies, as 
galling to them as it would be delicious to himself. Nor was he dis- 
appointed, at least in a part of his expectations. Congress, on receiv- 
ing intelligence of the battle of Behmis' Heights, immediately elevated 
Arnold to his long desired rank. Felicitations poured in on him from 
every quarter. At Albany, whither he had retired in consequence 
of his wound, he became an object of universal interest. Burgoyne, 
after the capitulation, personally complimented him on his intrepidity. 
In short, he was now at the zenith of his dazzling career — the won- 
der and applause of his countrymen ; but alas ! the star that blazed 
so brilliantly was only a false meteor, which already began to dim, 
and which was destined, amid gloom and tempest, to grow darker 
and darker to the close ! 

His wound proving tedious and unfitting him for service, Arnold, 
after the recovery of Philadelphia, was assigned the command of 
that place. His duties were never exactly defined, and his interfer- 



BENEDICT ARNOLD. 337 

ence soon offended the authorities of Pennsylvania, the result of which 
was another of those unfortunate quarrels in which Arnold continued 
to be involved, from the beginning to the close of his military career. 
His enemies charged him with extortion, oppression, and applying 
the public money to his own use ; he retorted in his old manner, 
impetuously and defyingly, appealing to his services as a defence. 
It is not our purpose to dig up and expose, from the grave of buried 
animosities, the unhappy bickerings, and more unhappy recrimina- 
tions of that controversy. Our present aim requires only that we 
should state accurately the amount of Arnold's guilt. This extended 
to imprudence, but scarcely to crime. However, his old enemies 
liad never been conciliated, and these now joining their outcries to 
his new ones, both together produced an uproar against which even 
Arnold could make no head, notwithstanding the brilliancy of his 
reputation. He became excessively unpopular in Philadelphia. At 
last the state authorities exhibited charges against him for pretended 
oppressive and illegal acts ; and, in the end, a military tribunal was 
appointed to examine and adjudicate on the case. His trial began 
in June, 1779, but, owing to the movements of the army, it was not 
concluded until January, 1780. To the astonishment of Arnold it 
ended in his conviction on two of the charges. He was not found 
guilty of any criminality, however, but of imprudent and improper 
conduct for one in his high station. He was sentenced to be repri- 
manded by Washington. 

Simultaneously with the progress of this quarrel, Arnold had been 
engaged in endeavoring to obtain a settlement of his accounts with 
Congress. The old ditficulties, however, interposed. In the end, 
Congress agreed to allow him about half of his claims, but inti- 
mated that he was then receiving more than he had any right to 
expect. At this, his resentment broke forth into the most violent 
invectives against the injustice of that body. In public and private 
he declaimed of the ingratitude of his country. There is no doubt 
that Congress was torn by factions, and that many members opposed 
Arnold from improper motives ; but there is as little doubt that, in 
his accounts, he was endeavoring to plunder his country. Even had 
he been perfectly innocent, however, the injustice of others would have 
been no defence of his subsequent conduct. But Arnold was not one to 
reason thus. His character was such that he often fancied himself 
injured when he was not ; and when he fancied himself injured, his 
first thought was of revenge. To gain this he was willing to sacri- 
fice everything — honor, a good name, his home, his country. He 
had long nursed this foul sentiment secretly in his bosom, and had 

43 DD 



338 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. 

even taken some steps to carry it into execution, with the intention 
of pursuing or abandoning it as circumstances should recommend ; 
but now, when Congress gave this impUcit censure in their report, 
and afterwards approved the sentence of the court martial by which 
he was subjected to the ignominy of a reprimand, he resolved to 
adopt the measure he had as yet only vaguely conceived. Another 
circumstance contributed to hasten this resolution, which we must 
present, before a just estimate of his character can be formed. 

On his arrival at Philadelphia, Arnold had given way to the 
natural selfishness and vanity of his soul, by adopting a style of the 
most ostentatious living, and one little in consonance with his com- 
paratively narrow means. He leased the house of Governor Penn, 
drove a carriage and four, gave splendid entertainments, and, in 
every way, sought to vie with the wealthiest inhabitants of the place. 
He formed an attachment for Miss Shippen, a young lady of great 
beauty, whose connexions and sympathies were chiefly with the 
loyalists, and who had herself been an admired belle in the circle of 
the British officers during their late occupation of the city. The 
society into which this marriage threw him, increased the suspicion 
into which Arnold fell. Neither did it diminish his expensive 
habits. He soon began to feel the necessity of recruiting his finances. 
For this purpose he embarked in privateering, but met with no 
success. He wrote to Washington, proposing to take the command 
of the navy ; but as he received no encouragement, he abandoned 
his project. He then waited on the Chevalier de la Luzerne, 
Ambassador from the Court of France, and proposed to that gentle- 
man to advance him a loan from the Court of Versailles ; but 
the Chevalier, who felt an interest in so brave a man, kindly repre- 
sented that any such loan would be considered by his enemies, in 
the light of a bribe, and to Arnold's chagrin, declined it. Thus, 
impelled at once by his necessities, and by the desire for revenge, he 
resolved to consummate the treason he had long projected. 

Even before the period when the court of inquiry was first ordered 
on his conduct, so early indeed as the spring of 1779, Arnold had 
opened a secret correspondence with Sir Henry Clinton, under the 
assumed character of a merchant, adopting the fictitious name of 
Anderson. Clinton at once suspected, from the contents of the let- 
ters, that his correspondent was a man of rank in the American 
army ; and giving the epistles into the hand of Major Andre, his 
protegee, directed him to answer them. Andre replied over the 
signature of Gustavns. The correspondence was continued, without 
Clinton discovering the name of the traitor, until the trial of Arnold, 



BENEDICT ARNOLD, 339 

v/hen the British General became convinced, by a combination of 
various circumstances, that this was the man. When, therefore, 
shortly after, the command of West Point was given to Arnold, and 
Chnton received a letter from the pretended Anderson, stating that 
he was now in a situation to render a vast service to the royal cause, 
but wished to have a private interview with some responsible officer, 
in order to adjust the terms, the British General felt justified in 
deputing Major Andre, we may suppose with ample powers, to 
meet this secret friend, and, if he should prove to be Arnold, to 
promise everything in order to obtain possession of West Point. 

For that fortress, in consequence of being the depot where the 
stores were deposited, which had been collected in view of the pro- 
jected attack on New York, was now a prize of the highest value 
10 Clinton, since its capture would at once derange the plans of the 
enemy, and break up altogether the approaching campaign. Nor 
had Arnold obtained the command of this post without much finesse. 
Indeed, from the hour when he resolved on his treason, he began to 
display a subtlety, little of which had been evinced in his former 
life, and which would have been thought incompatible with his 
impetuosity. Instead of openly asking for the command, he ap- 
proached his object by tortuous steps, procuring others to suggest 
him for it, and then merely hinting to Washington its fitness for 
him, in consequence of his wounded leg, which had not yet grown 
strong. Once in possession of the place he became urgent, as we 
have seen, for an interview with some responsible British officer. 
He himself suggested Andre as a proper person. That gallant 
officer, on being applied to, accepted the task, though unwillingly. 

What took place at the interview that followed is a secret which 
descended to the grave with its guilty perpetrators. Nor are the 
results known, except so far as they were betrayed by the papers 
found in Andre's boots, at the time of his capture. But from these 
it would appear that Sir Henry Clinton, on an appointed day, was 
to have advanced up the Hudson with the flower of his army, and 
that Arnold was to have placed the garrison of West Point in such 
situations that the place would have fallen an easy prey to the 
enemy. Andre was to have led one of the columns, and to have 
been rewarded, in case of success, with the rank of Brigadier. What 
was to have been the compensation of Arnold, in the event of this 
triumph, we have no means of determining, though, from the letters 
of Clinton to the British Ministry, it is evident that no price was 
considered too great to secure the possession of West Point. Fortu- 
nately, the plot failed. In the very moment of apparent success, 



340 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



when the arch conspirator was already counting his gains, the 
unexpected arrest of Andre frustrated the whole treason, and brought 
ruin on its plotters. Yet fate most unequally awarded the penalties 
Andre, the accomplished, gallant, noble-hearted gentleman, the pride 
of the British army, and the stay of his widowed mother and of his 
sisters, died a felon's death ; while Arnold, the mercenary patriot, 










HEAD-lil'AfiTEUS AT TAl'PAN. 



the unprihcipled man, the officer without honor, the heart black with 
base revenge, escaped by a combination of the most fortuitous cir- 
cumstances, and died, at last, in his bed. But time has, in part, 
made amends for this apparent injustice. The story of Andre is 
now never told without a tear ; while the treason of Arnold is 
always heard with execrations. The one, exhumed from his hum- 
ble grave on the Hudson, lies in the stately shades of Westminster 
Abbey, and, of all the heroes, and sages, and poets there, attracts 
the first attention : the other, buried in his obscure grave, without a 
monument to mark the spot, survives only as a lesson to our children, 
as a hissing and reproach among nations. « 

We have not, it will be seen, followed the episode of Andre into 
its details. The narrative is familiar to all. But we have endeavored 
to do what is more to our purpose, to analyze the causes of Arnold's 
treason. We have traced, step by step, the growth of that dark 
design in his unprincipled, selfish, and revengeful bosom ; and have 
successfully proved, we think, that the sequence was a natural one. 



BENEDICT ARNOLD. 341 

under the circumstances, to a mind like his. There was no mon- 
strosity in the wickedness of Arnold. He was not, as the early wri- 
ters loved to paint him, a fiend in human shape. On the contrary, 
he was just such a person as hundreds might become, if they should 
cast aside the restraints of virtue. He was only a bad man, whose 
violent passions, uncontrolled by moral principles, seduced him in- 
sensibly to his ruin. He was brave, it is true, even to heroism; but 
this, rightly considered, is no extenuation of his crime : on the con- 
trary, it awakens indignation, perhaps mingled a little with regret, 
that one who might have served his country so effectually, chose 
rather to serve her foes. Men of Arnold's character continually cross 
the path of those conversant with criminal courts ; men of high ani- 
mal courage, but low in the scale of morals ; men who are burglars, 
or highwaymen, or murderers, as the circumstances may demand. 
It was his fortune to move in a higher sphere only : had his situation 
been different his fate might have been theirs. We are not of those 
who think he ever could have been a permanent ornament to his 
country. Had his grievances been even less, or had they been none 
at all, he would, sooner or later, have become a dangerous man in 
consequence of his depravity of principle. "Can the leopard change 
his spots, or the Ethiopian his skin ?" In a word, Arnold had half 
the elements of a hero, and half the elements of a villain ; but the 
villain triumphed over the hero. 

The events of the traitor's subsequent career may be told in a few 
words. On his flight to New York, he was appointed a Colonel in 
the British army with the brevet of a Brigadier. He immediately 
began to raise a regiment of loyahsts and renegades, and published 
an address to the Americans, inviting them to return to their alle- 
giance. His proclamation was treated with scorn ; and, with all his 
efforts, his regiment filled up but slowly. Eager to display his zeal 
for the royal cause, he solicited active employment, and was sent on 
an expedition against Virginia, where his atrocities will be long re- 
membered. He did not succeed, however, in gaining the confidence 
of his new employers ; for Clinton, when he assigned him this com- 
mand, attached Colonels Dundas and Simcoe to the expeditioYi, and 
ordered them secretly to watch Arnold ; and subsequently, when 
Cornwallis arrived in Virginia, one of his first acts was to banish the 
traitor from head-quarters. The antipathy to him in the British army 
was so great that, finding he could get no respectable officers to serve 
under him, he sailed for Europe before the war closed. None of 
his acts in America, after his treason, reflect the slightest credit on 



342 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLrTION. 

him; but, on the contrary, his ferocity at New London and in Virgi- 
nia, increased the infamy of his name. 

Arrived in England, his reception was not more favorable than in 
New York. The government, from motives of interest, continued to 
shew him favor ; but in private society he was shunned by men of 
honor and subjected to daily insults. Lord Lauderdale, observing 
him standing near the throne, when the sovereign came in state to 
the House, remarked that notwithstanding the graciousness of his 
majesty's language, his indignation was aroused to see the King 
supported by a traitor. Lord Surry, on one occasion having risen 
to address the House, and seeing Arnold in the gallery, set down, 
declaring he would not speak while such a man was present. When 
the war with France broke out, Arnold solicited employment, but 
the government, finding that no officer would serve under him, 
declined his services. In the interval he had removed to St. Johns, 
New Brunswick, and engaged in trade; and to compensate him in 
part for his services, the ministry afforded him lucrative contracts for 
supplying the West India troops with provisions. His style of living 
was still profuse and showy; but though received on this account 
among the wealthier classes, he soon became odious with the popu- 
lace. He finally returned to London, where he died on the 14th of 
June, 1801, at the age of sixty-one. 

His wife clung to him throughout all, the same in his guilt as in 
his glory. The morning of his flight, he called her to his chamber 
and hastily unfolding to her his story, left her senseless at the dis- 
closure and hurried away. Her distraction has been eloquently 
painted by the pen of Hamilton, and is said to have drawn tears 
from Washington, whom, in her delirious agony, she upbraided as 
the cause of her sorrows. It has been thought, by some, that this 
was only acting, and that she had been, all along, the confidant of 
her husband's treason. But this is an error. Mrs. Arnold gave no 
assistance to the plot, unless by feeding unconsciously her husband's 
love of extravagance. When she recovered, she desired to be allowed 
to join him, and, throughout his subsequent career, clung to him with 
all a woman's devotion. We cannot dismiss this subject without an 
anecdote illustrative of the temper of the American populace towards 
females. Mrs. Arnold was trav€lling to join her husband when she 
stopped, for the night, at a vihage where the mob were about burning 
the traitor in effigy ; but the rioters, hearing of her arrival, postponed 
their sport. Would the populace of any other nation have dis- 
played a similar delicacy ? 




GK.NERAL JAMES CLINTON'S ESCAPE FROM FORT CLINTON-. 



JAMES CLINTON 



T would be invidious in any history of the war of 
^' independence, to pass over the services of the two 
Clintons of New York. Gen. George Clinton, 
'^ the youngest of the two brothers, contributed, 
$%- more than any other man in that commonwealth, to 
'^' the success of the cause. His popularity and influ- 
ence there were unbounded. He was Governor of 
the state for eighteen years, having been first elected 
in 1777, and afterwards continued, by triennial 
elections', until 1795. In 1805, he was chosen Vice- 
President of the United States,and died in 1812,while still in possession 




.s^-^ry 



344 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

of that high office. As he was rather a civil than a miUtary character, 
we dismiss him with this brief aUusion to his inestimable services. 

His brother, James CUnton, a Major-General in the continental 
line, having been more actively employed in a military capacity, 
comes more properly within the scope of this work. He was the 
fourth son of Colonel Charles Clinton, an Irish emigrant, and was 
born in Ulster comity, on the 19th of August, 1736. In early life he 
possessed few adventitious aids to success except an excellent edu- 
cation, a gift which he shared in common with his four brothers. 
Evincing an inclination for the military life, he was appointed, in 
1756, an Ensign in a militia regiment, from which rank he rose in 
1758, to a Lieutenancy, and, in 1759, to a Captaincy. In 1763 he 
was elevated to the post of Captain-Commandant of the four compa- 
nies raised to defend the western frontiers of New York ; and, in 
1774, he became Lieutenant-Colonel of the second regiment of mili- 
tia, in his native country. In the French war he participated in the 
capture of Fort Frontenac, and won a reputation for gallantry, reso- 
lution and military skill. At the close of the war he married a Miss 
De Witt, and retired to private life. But, like other veterans of that 
contest, when the revolutionary war became inevitable, he cheerfully 
resumed his old profession, and prepared to shed his blood for free- 
dom. Congress immediately gave him tlie commission of a Colo- 
nel, and subsequently, in 1776, that of a Brigadier. It was not until 
the close of the strife that he attained the rank of a Major-General. 

Clinton served in the expedition against Canada, under Montgo- 
mery ; but his chief military achievement was the defence of Fort 
Clinton, on the Hudson, in October, 1777. His brother. Governor 
Clinton, as Commander-in-chief, was at Fort Montgomery, its neigh- 
bor. The attack on these forts was part of a plan conceived by Sir 
Henry Clinton, to create a diversion in favor of Burgoyne and open 
a passage, up the Hudson, to that unfortunate General. Accordingly, 
at the head of four thousand men, the British General advanced up 
that river, and having surrounded Forts Montgomery and Clinton, 
made a desperate assault upon them. They were defended by only 
about five hundred men, chiefly militia, while the works themselves 
were in a very unfinished condition. Yet the resistance, though 
hopeless, was glorious to our arms. Militia as Avell as regulars 
behaved with the courage of heroes. Manning their feeble lines, 
the Americans fought on until sundown, an incessant fire continu- 
ally girdling the entrenchments, the echoes of which, reverberating 
through the hills, spread terror far and wide among the inhabitants 
of that quiet region. At last the overwhelming numbers of the ene- 



JAMES CLINTON. 345 

my could be resisted no longer; and, like a solid wave of infantry, 
the British poured over the walls. Some few of the con(iuere(l 
fought their way out, while the darkness of the night assistcid others 
to escape. Fortunately, neither the Governor nor his brother were 
taken. The latter made an escape which is as full of romance as 
that of any fabled knight of chivalry. 

James Clinton was the last man to abandon the works. Pursued 
and fired at by the enemy, and with a severe wound from a bayonet 
thrust, he yet succeeded ui making his escape and eluding the search 
of the British. His servant was killed during the flight, and he now 
found himself alone. He knew if he retained his horse he should 
be detected, so, removing the bridle from the liiithlul animal, he dis- 
missed him, and slid down a precipice, one hundred feet in depth, 
to the ravine which separated the forts. A small brook threads its 
way through this narrow cleft. Into this Clinton Ml, and luckily 
the cold water checked the effusion of blood from his wound. 
Creeping along the precipitous banks, ho finally gained a part of the 
mountain at a distance from the fort ; and here lie sat down, weak 
and cold, to think on his still perilous situation. The return of light 
he knew would betray him, luiless he could fortunately discover a 
horse, a contingency not altogether impossible, as horses sometimes 
ran wild in that desolate region. He watched the slow approach of 
dawn with anxious misgivings. One by one the stars paled, and the 
cold grey of the morning stole over the landscape. He was still so 
near the fort that he could hear the reveille. The chill dusky hue ol' 
early dawn began to redden, and at last the sun shot above the 
eastern hills. A few hours now, perhaps a few minutes, would re- 
veal him to the foe. Faint from loss of blood, and stiff from expo- 
sure to the night dews, he struggled wearily on, when, suddenly, a 
neigh rose on the stillness of the morning and a horse a])peared in 
sight. Clinton soon succeeded in catching (he prize. His bridle, 
which lie had preserved, was now invaluoble. About noon, he 
reached his own house, sixteen miles from the fort, his clothes torn, 
his person covered with blood, and a high fever raging in his veins. 

In 1779, Clinton connuandcd a detachment of sixteen hundred 
men, which was sent into the country of the Six Nations, in order 
to assist Sullivan in his expedition against those hostile Indians. He 
had arrived at the head of Owego Lake, but finding the Susquehan- 
nah, which there debouches from the lake, too shallow to fioat his 
•batteaux, he raised a dam across the aperture, and when the waters 
had collected suliiciently, he broke down the barrier and thus bore 
his troops triumpliantly to Tioga. The Indians made a stand at 
44 



346 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTIOX. 

Newtown, on the 20th of August, 1779, but tlieir fortifications were 
carried in a vigorous assault, and, after that, no further resistance 
was made. Tlie Americans now proceeded to intlict summary ven- 
geance for the massacre of Wyoming. The Indians inhabiting that 
district, had attained to comparative civilization. They possessed 
villages, gardens, orchards, corn-fields, horses and cows, and farming 
implements of the most approved construction. Their dwellings 
were connuodious, some even elegant. Through and through that 
beautiful district went the fire-brand and the sword. The wife 
ll(>d tVom her home, as the Americans appeared, but Ungered in the 
woods nigh mitil she saw it given to the flames; then, with fast fall- 
ing tears, she took her children by the hand and began her weary 
journey, through the wilderness, to Fort Niagara. All day the 
smoke of iiouses and barns darkened those beautiful vallies: all 
night the glare of contlagralions lit up the heavens for miles. If 
compunctious feelings visited the destroyers, they thought of the 
atrocities at Wyoming, and, alter that, needed nothing to nerve them 
to the task. Even at this day only a morbid sensibility can censure 
this retaliation. It was necessary that the plough-share of ruin 
should be driven through the heart of that jiroud nation betore peace 
could be secured to our frontier settlements. While the bones of 
innocent women and children still lay bleaching in the valley of 
Wyoming, it could not be expected that the homes of tJiose savage 
invatlers should be spared. From that day the once mighty nation 
of Iroquois was prostrated forever. 

Clinton was, tor some time, in command of the northern depart- 
ment at Albany. He was subsequently attached to the main 
army, and was present at the capture of Cornwallis. When the 
British evacuated New York, Clinton made his last appearance in 
arms. He now retired to his anqile estates. He was, however, not 
suffered always to enjoy the repose lie had so fairly earned; but, on 
several occasions, was called, unsolicited, to civic honors. He was 
one of the conv<Mition that Ibrmed the present federal constitution. 

James Clinton was one of the sincerest patriots the Revolution af- 
forded. He was as superior in his qualifications for a military life, as 
his lirother was in fitness for civil duties. In battle he was cool, ready 
and courageous. No crisis, however unexpected, destroyed the 
balance of his mind. In temper he was usually mild and affection- 
ate ; biU Ills passions were strong, and when once aroused, terrific. 
The duties of ordinary life he discharged in an exemplary manner. 
His death occurred on the 22nd of December, 1S13. 





JOHN SULLIVAN. 

OIIN SULLIVAN, a Major-Goncral 
till the continental army, was one of 
tlio.s(! military connnanders whom mis- 
fortune seems to take pleasure in pursuing. 
Whatever he undertook, with but one ex- 
ception, failed. He began his career by re- 
treating from Canada, and ended it by a 
fruitless siege of Newport. The loss of the 
battles of Long Island and of Brandy wine has 
always been attributed to him in popular history. Nor has he 
escaped condemnation altogether for the defeat at Germantown. 
Like St. Clair, he is censured more than he deserves, though, like 
that General, his misfortunes arose, in part, from his own faults. 
But Sullivan was an abler General than St. Clair. Indeed, on a 
review of his career, he appears to have possessed every requisite 
for a successful soldier, except the foresight to provide against possi- 
ble contingencies. Whatever share he had in the errors at Long 
Island and Brandy wine is attributable entirely to a neglect of this 
prudential foresight. If he had caused the upper pass in the one 
case, and the higher fords in the other to be watched, defeat 
might probably have been averted, and victory possibly won. 
Napoleon never committed such oversights. This want of careful 
preparation on all points, was the great error of Sullivan's military 
career. His hasty temper, united with a spice of vanity, were his 

347 



348 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

foibles in social life. These two radical defects, one in the leader 
the other in the man, explain the failures for which, at last, he 
became proverbial. 

Sullivan was born at Berwick, in the province of Maine, February 
the 17th, 1740. He was educated for the bar, and settled in Dur- 
ham, New Hampshire. Gifted with a fine voice, great self-posses- 
sion, a copious eloquence, and strong powers of reasoning, he soon 
rose to eminence among his fellow citizens. Distinguishing him- 
self on the colonial side, in the dispute then gohig on between 
America and England, he was elected a member of the first Congress. 
In December, 1774, two months after the Congress had adjourned, 
and four months prior to the battle of Lexington, he connnanded 
an expedition, in conjunction with the celebrated John Langdon, 
which seized the valuable stores in the fort at Portsmouth. Again 
elected to Congress, he was in attendance on that body when he 
received the appointment of Brigadier-General, and his ambition 
aspiring to distinction in military, rather than in civil ali'airs, he at 
once embarked in the new career thus opened to him. His first 
command was that of the army of Canada. Anxious to acquire a 
reputation, he was induced to protract the struggle there longer than 
was prudent, and the unfortunate defeat at the Three Rivers was 
the consequence. On his return to the States he found that Gates 
had been appointed to supersede him. Giving way to his natural impe- 
tuosity, he sent in his resignation, but through the prudent counsels 
of Washington, reconsidered his design. The next occasion on 
which he came before the public eye was at the battle of Long 
Island, where he was General-in-chief of the troops without the 
lines. The defeat, on that occasion, as we have shown in the 
memoir of Stirlmg, arose from the Jamaica pass not being sufficiently 
guarded ; and as Sullivan had been on the ground longer than Put- 
nam, the censure, if any, must fall on him. He fought, however, 
with bravery when he found himself surrounded. Indeed, whatever 
faults Sullivan may have possessed, a want of courage was not one of 
them. He was taken prisoner in this battle, but soon after exchanged. 

He joined the army of Washington during the disastrous period 
innnediately preceding the battle of Trenton ; and, when Lee was 
surprised and made captive by the enemy, assumed command of his 
division. He had now risen to the rank of Major-General, and was 
the senior officer of that description in the army. This entitled him 
to lead the right wing in the surprise at Trenton. His conduct m 
that battle conduced materially to the victory, a point which is 
overlooked by those who so unduly depreciate his services. He 
shared also in the glory of Princeton. During the next campaign, 



JOHN SULLIVAN. 34 9 

after Washington had advanced southward to meet Sir William 
Howe, Sullivan projected an expedition against Staten Island, in 
order to cut off a detachment of the enemy, two thousand strong, 
whose incursions into New Jersey continually annoyed the people 
of that state. On the afternoon of the 21st of August he set out to 
execute his design. The various detachments into wliich he divided 
his forces crossed before day-break, and, for a while, everything 
promised success ; but, in the end, the British rallied, and coming up 
at a critical juncture, when the Americans were waiting for their 
boats, which had been carried off through a mistake, changed the 
fortune of the day. The loss on both sides, however, was about 
equal. One hundred and fifty prisoners were taken by Sullivan : one 
hundred and thirty by the British. The failure of this enterprise 
led to a court of inquiry on his conduct ; but the result was an 
honorable acquittal. However, as in the case of Arnold, his irritable 
temper and tone of defiance secretly increased tlie number of his 
foes, who, though at present smothering their resentment, waited for 
an opportunity to injure him. 

The occasion was not long wanting. Sir William Howe, having 
landed at the head of Elk, was now rapidly advancing on Philadel- 
phia ; and to defend that city Washington had taken post at Chad's 
Ford, on the Brandywine. But the British, instead of crossing the 
stream in face of his batteries, chose a safer plan for victory, and 
one they had already tried with success at Long Island. They 
resolved to amuse the Americans by a feigned attempt to cross, 
while the main body, taking a circuitous march, should gain Wash- 
ington's rear. A suspicion of such design having been entertained 
in camp, the Commander-in-chief sent for Sullivan, and desired him 
to watch the fords up the stream. A countryman, from whom a 
description of the fords had been obtained, was present at the inter- 
view, and, on Sullivan's enquiring if there were no other fords 
beside the three named, this person answered there were none, at 
least within twelve miles. This appears to have satisfied Sullivan, 
who contented himself with posting guards at the three fords 
described, without examining into the truth of the countryman's 
story. As Washington had delegated the whole matter to Sullivan, he 
relied confidently on that General to perform his duty faithfully ; 
but it is apparent, from what we have said, that Sullivan took too 
much on hearsay. The only excuse for his remissness is the one he 
afterwards urged, that, owing to the scarcity of light horse, he could 
not patrol the country. 

As the day advanced, Washington, perceiving the British did not 
cross to attack him, formed the bold design of taking the irjitiative 

EC 



350 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

himself, and was preparing to make the assault, when he received 
the startling intelligence that the main body of the enemy, led by 
Sir William Howe and Cornwallis, after traversing a circuit of six- 
teen miles, had crossed the Brandywine above its forks, and was 
pouring down on his rear. The first positive information of this 
stratagem was brought to head-quarters by Thomas Cheney, Esq., 
a native of the vicinity, who, from patriotic motives, had been 
reconnoitering the shores of the Brandywine the whole morning. 
He was at a distance of several miles from the camp, when, sud- 
denly, on reaching the top of a hill, he came in view of the enemy. 
The British pursued and fired on him, but being mounted on a mare 
renowned for her fleetness, he escaped from his enemies, and arrived, 
breathless, at head-quarters. Here he demanded to see Washing- 
ton. The request was at first denied ; but his eagerness finally 
conquered, and he was admitted to the presence of the General. 
The Commander-in-chief, however, relying on Sullivan's accuracy, 
refused to believe the information. Cheney replied warmly, " You 
are mistaken. General, my life for it, you are mistaken," and 
requested to be put under a guard and retained, so that if he proved 
a traitor he might suffer death. This earnestness shook Washing- 
ton's opinion. Cheney then drew, in the sand, a plan of the road 
taken by Cornwallis. Washington was now satisfied. He immedi- 
ately despatched word to Sullivan, who lay about a mile up the 
Brandywine. By this time, however, that officer also had discovered 
the movement of the foe. All was now hurry and excitement. 
Washington hastily directed the three divisions of Sullivan, Stirling 
and Deborre to wheel and face Cornwallis. Accordingly they 
marched, by diflerent routes, to a high hill about three miles in the 
rear, at Birmingham Meeting House, where they had scarcely 
formed before the British advanced to the attack. The Hessians 
led the assault, and were sustained by the grenadiers. In a few 
minutes the American line began to break on the right, and the con- 
fusion immediately after became perceptible on the left also. Sulli- 
van, whose seniority gave him the chief command, made the most 
desperate exertions to redeem the day. Throwing himself into Stir- 
ling's division, which formed the centre of the line, and which still 
stood its ground, he inspired the men by his personal daring, as well 
as by his exhortations, and it was not until nearly surrounded by 
the victorious enemy that he consented to retire. The whole three 
divisions then retreated, Sullivan and Stirling bringing up the rear 
with sullen desperation ; while the British, cheering triumphantly, 
followed in pursuit. 

Washington, as soon as he heard that Cornwallis was in his rear, 



JOHN SULLIVAN. 351 

had abandoned his arrangements for crossing the Brandy wine. He 
left Wayne, however, to defend the ford, while he moved Greene, 
with his division, some distance back from the river, in order that 
this otiicer might assist either Sullivan or Wayne, as circumstances 
should require. He remained in person, with his suite, at his head- 
quarters near the ford. When the firing began, in the direction of 
Birmingham Meeting House, he could not contain his anxiety ; but 
ordered a guide to be found to conduct him, by the shortest route, 
to the scene of strife. One was soon discovered, but objected to the 
task on account of his advanced age. On this he was peremptorily 
told, by one of the suite, that if he did not at once mount the horse 
offered to him, he should be run through on the spot. This threat 
decided his scruples. The party dashed off across the field, leaping 
the fences : the horse of Washington keeping close to that of the 
guide. As the roar of the battle deepened, the anxiety of the Gene- 
ral increased, and he exclaimed continually, notwithstanding the 
wild gallop at which they went, "Push along, old man, push along!" 
When they had arrived within half a mile of the Meeting House, 
they met the Americans in full retreat. The bullets whistled by, 
and the shouts of the enemy rose close at hand. In the confusion 
the guide stole off. The genius of Washington was now directed 
to arrest the disasters of the day. Greene was posted in a ravine, 
between two woods, close at hand. As the fugitives came up, he 
opened his ranks and allowed them to pass through ; then, closing 
up again, stubbornly faced the foe. Meantime his artillery ploughed 
the dense masses of the British as they poured to the chase. The 
gallant front thus presented soon checked the ardor of the pursuit. 
Shortly after, Pulaski, borrowing the thirty life-guards of Wash- 
ington, plunged headlong into the enemy's ranks, carrying terror 
and confusion wherever he went, and effectually stopping the 
advance. The army, in the end, retired safely to Chester. Wayne, 
too, partook in the defeat, for Knyphausen, seizing the favorable 
.moment when he knew the Americans to be engaged with Cornwal- 
lis, crossed the Brandy wine with all his force, on which Wayne 
abandoned his position, though not till he had learned the defeat of 
Sullivan, and the uselessness of further resistance. 

The numbers of the two armies were very disproportionate in this 
battle, but not less so than their equipments, discipline and weapons. 
The British brought eighteen thousand rank and file into the field ; the 
Americans mustered only about eleven thousand able-bodied men. 
But this was the least part of the disparity between the combatants. 
The British were trained veterans ; the Americans only raw levies. 
The muskets of the British were all of similar bore, to which the 



352 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

cartridges fitted exactly, so that the ball flew with certain aim ; the 
guns of the Americans were of every description, and consequently 
threw their shot wide of the mark. Yet, notwithstanding their dis- 
advantages, the Americans generally fought with the most desperate 
courage, the Virginia and Pennsylvania regiments particularly dis- 
tinguishing themselves. It has been asked why Washington, on 
learning the circuitous route taken by Cornwallis, did not precipitate 
his whole force on Knyphausen, and crush that officer before aid 
could come up. But it must be remembered that the German Gen- 
eral had five thousand men, and held a strong position on the rise 
of a wooded hill, so that it is extremely doubtful whether Washing- 
ton, with his raw soldiers, could have dislodged him very easily. 
The Americans would have had to ford the stream in face of a 
driving shower from artillery, and charge up hill along a narrow 
road, where odds would have been of comparatively little avail. 
No person who has visited the battle-field can, for a moment, sup- 
pose that Washington would have succeeded before Knyphausen 
could have been succored. The nature of the ground, as well as 
the character of his forces alike forbade it. Besides, Washington 
was fighting to prevent the enemy reaching Philadelphia, and if he 
had abandoned the right bank of the Brandywine without a struggle, 
even the defeat of Knyphausen would have failed to excuse him in 
the eyes of Congress and the people. In short, any opinion on 
Washington's conduct is fallacious, which does not take into con- 
sideration the means at his disposal. What he might have done 
with veterans, is quite another question from what it was safe to 
undertake with raw levies. After Baron Steuben introduced the 
exact and rigid discipline of Prussia into our army, Washington was 
able to face the veterans of England on equal terms ; but to have 
risked an assault at Brandywine, would probably have been the 
ruin of his army. 

The remissness of Sullivan, in watching the fords, afforded his 
enemies an opportunity to assail his reputation more virulently than 
ever. Congress, lending an ear to the accusations, voted to suspend 
him until a court of inquiry should sit on his conduct ; but Wash- 
ington remonstrating against this decision, and declaring he could 
not face the enemy if his Generals were taken from him, the resolu- 
tion was rescinded. Still, it is clear that Sullivan was in fault, though 
not perhaps to an extent warranting a court martial. We cannot 
see, however, with some writers, that Washington shared this error. 
The duty in which Sullivan failed was an executive one : he was 
told to watch the fords, and failed to do so. It was Washington's 
duty to direct this precaution, and this he faithfully executed ; it was 



JOHN SULLIVAN. 353 

Siillivair.s duly (i) tiikc \\\v. [inH-auiion, aiicl lliis \\c only pardally 
did. 'I'lic blunders committed by Washington in this battle, if any, 
wort! in consequence of false intelligence, received from an inferior, 
on whose accuracy lio relied. It would be as unjust to condenni 
Washington for Sullivan's remissness, as to blame Napoleon because 
r.roucliy did not come up at Waterloo. 

Tlu! battle of (lermautown Ibllowed, on the Ith of October, ibree 
weeks after the battle of lirandywine. In this action Sullivan eoni- 
manded the American right. He drove in the enemy's outposts, 
and pursued them about two miles, to the centre of the vil- 
lage ; but here a sudden panic seized his men, and notwithstanding 
every elfort on his part, they tiu'ued and tied. This battle also was 
lost in consequence of the want of discipline on the part of the 
Americans. This becomes a])parent when (lie plan of (he attack is 
understood. The Ikitish lay in the centre of the village, and at 
right angles with the prmcipal street. The attack was to be made 
in two columns, one directed against (Ik; enemy's right, (he odier 
against his left. Simultaneously he was to be assailed in rear from 
both flanks, and for this purpose two bo(Hes of militia were 
despatched (o turn his right and loA't respectively. The colunms in 
front drove in the outposts, and pursued them to the main body, 
where the steady aspect of the liritish checked (he advan<'e of the 
victors. After a halt of a. few miiuites, each of these colnnms, 
without any communication with the other, but panic-struck, in part 
by their own temerity, in part by mistaking each other in the fog for 
the enemy, began to retire. The enemy, simultanoonsly recovering 
from his fright, advanced, and the retreat soon changed into an 
ahnost disorderly flight. A fortunate thought on the part of Wayne 
alone saved the army. Hastily opening a battery at the Wliite 
Marsh Church, after the pursuit had continued seven miles, he 
checked the British, and covered the retreat in the same way that 
Greene had done at Brandy wine. It has been supposed that a liah, 
made by a part of the reserve at Chew's House, produced the defeat. 
This is a mistake. It is probable that this accident contributed to 
hasten the repulse ; but it was impossil)lc for tin; Americans to have 
routed their enemy. 'J'he panic in Sullivan's divisi(ni arose, in fact, 
from a false impression (hat (he outposts were; tli(; main body, so 
that, when fresh (roops appeared drawn up at the centre of the vil- 
lage, consternation seized (he men. The victory, up to tluit point, liad 
been altogether delusive. In a word, the battle of Germantownwaslost 
in consequence of the unchseiplined c()n(htion of the American army. 

In the ensuing winter Sullivan was desj)atche(l to take command 

of the troops in Khode Island. In August, 1778, he laid siege to 
45 EK* 



354 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

Newport, and was on the very point of success when the French 
Admiral, d'Estaing, who was co-operating with him, abandoned the 
siege to join combat with a Britisli fleet otF the Jiarbor, and being 
shattered in a gale, repaired to Boston to refit. Sullivan keenly felt 
this desertion. He was extremely eager for popularity, and having 
always been unfortunate, was the more desirous to succeed on the 
present occasion. Hence, when he found all his persuasions could 
not induce d'Estaing to remain, he allowed his indignation to break 
out in a reflection on his ally, contained in the general orders. An 
open rupture between Sallivan and the Admiral threatened to follow 
this indiscretion ; but, through the influence of LaFayette, the 
breach was healed and amicable relations restored. The withdrawal 
of d'Estaing, however, compelled the American General to retreat, 
which he did in the most masterly manner, without the loss of a 
single article. The next year he commanded the famous expedition 
against the Six Nations, a description of which has already been 
given in the memoir of General James Clinton. He now determined 
to retire from the army. His failing health, and his pecuniary cir- 
cumstances, were the ostensible reasons for this resolution, though 
it may have been secretly assisted by the disgust, natural to an 
honorable mind, at finding its honest efforts misrepresented, and 
calumniation returned for all its sacrifices. For a large and bitter 
faction, composed partly of personal enemies created by his irritable 
temper, and partly by the remnants of the Conway cabal, which 
strove to strike at Washington through his friends, still pursued Sullivan 
with unrelenting hostility. Congress coldly accepted his resignation. 

He now returned to the practice of the law. In 1780 he was 
elected to Congress, but served only one term. In 1786, 1787, and 
1789, he was President of New Hampshire; and rendered himself 
conspicuous in quelling the spirit of revolt, which was visible there 
at the period of Shay's rebellion in Massachusetts. On the adoption 
of the federal constitution, and Washington's elevation to the Presi- 
dency, Sullivan was appointed the District Judge for New Hamp- 
shire. He continued in this ofiice until his death, which occurred 
on the 22nd of January, 1795. 

Sullivan was a General of respectable talents. He had not the 
comprehensive mind of Greene, nor the headlong fury of Putnam ; 
he was neither a great stategist, nor a splendid executive officer. 
But, among second-rate men, he held a first-rate position. He was 
more unfortunate than he deserved. It is enough to say, in conclu- 
sion, that Washington always estimated his military talents favora- 
bly, and that the men who at first assailed his abilities lived to recant 
their opinions. 







IIMNIIY KNOX 




III 10 iriiiM, who, ()(' all ollmrs, |)(!rli;i[),s, 
'was l)(!st |)(;l(»vr(| of Wasliili^loii, was 
lli'iiry Knox, (•oiniii;iii(icr ol IIm; ;irlill(:ry 
ill IIk; AtiKiiicaii army. TIk; iiil<;il<Tlual 
<|iialil,i(;s of Knox, llioiif^li not hrillianl, 
,:-r>W(!re sound; hiil, \l was his iiioi;il ones 
^'•.i^_ lliiAl w<!n; |»r«!-«;iniiM!nlly dctscrvini^ of 
()sl(!(;m, and in «;onsid(!ratioji of which, 
Washington hcsiowcd on him ihr lovi; and coididcincc of a hrotlior. 
In (ivcry art ion wIiit<; Waslniif^ton a|)|»(tarcd in person, Knox ut- 
loiidod liini; in (;v<'.ry council ol' war, Knox horc a [)art. Ouc or two 
mistakes in judmncnt, h(5 coriunitlcd during his military curcjcr, a« 
at (Jl(;rMiatitowu, where lie wus the <;aus<! of thcj delay ut Cliew's 
mansion; hut th(!se were amply recJeemcjd hy his advice on othcjr 
o<;casions, as at the h.itlle of Assunpink, whcr<!, with Cireene, ho 
recommended the hold rriovfiUHMit on the communic,alions oi' Corii- 
wallis, whicli victoriously terminated the campaign. His services at 



356 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

the head of the ordnance were invaluable. He assumed command 
of that branch of the army in the first year of the war, and continued 
at its head until the close of the contest. At the battle of Monmouth, 
the manner in which he handled his guns awakened the admiration 
of the enemy, and in fact contributed, more perhaps than anything 
else, to repel this last desperate assault. Greene had so high an 
opinion of Knox that, when Washington offered to the former the com- 
mand of the southern army, he proposed Knox in his stead ; but the 
American chief. Math a better knowledge of the men, made an eva- 
sive reply and pressed the post on Greene ; for Knox, though a good 
executive officer, and possessed of an admirable judgment, was not 
equal to Greene in patient endurance, in far-sighted views, in ex- 
haustless resources : indeed no man except Washington was. 

Knox was a native of Boston, in which town he was born, on the 
25th of July, 1750. Prior to the war of independence, he followed, 
for a time, the occupation of a book-seller. He early displayed a 
taste for military affairs, and in 1774 was chosen an officer in one 
of the volunteer companies which, about that period, sprung up in 
such numbers, in vague anticipation of a war. He soon became 
distinguished among his fellow soldiers for his knowledge of tactics, 
for his strict discipline, for his industry, energy and resources. He 
was particularly remarkable for the attention he paid to the artillery 
service, a branch of military science for which he always shewed a 
predilection, and in which he was destined peculiarly to distinguish 
himself His first connexion with this department occurred imme- 
diately after the battle of Lexington. Knox had not been engaged 
in that struggle, but a few days subsequent to it, he made his escape 
from Boston, and joining his countrymen in arms at Cambridge, 
offered to undertake the arduous task of transporting from Ticonde- 
roga and Canada, the heavy ordnance and military stores captured 
there by the Americans. The energetic spirit of the young man, and 
the handsome manner in which he executed a task, abounding with 
what some would have considered impossibilities, attracted the es- 
pecial notice of Washington, and Knox, in consequence, was rewarded 
with the command of this very artillery, most of which he employed, 
with good service, in the siege of Boston. He owed his advance- 
ment, in part also, to his superior knowledge of the department, there 
being, at that period, few persons in America competent for the office. 
Thus, at the age of twenty-five, he found himself occupying one of 
the most responsible positions in the army. 

From this period, Knox remained with Washington, taking part 
in all the principal battles fought by that General. Occupying a 



HENRV KNOX. 



357 



subordinate position, however, he had few opportunities of especial 
distinction ; but when these arose, he always acquitted himself with 
honor. The confidence which Washington reposed in him, was a 
source of jealousy to others of the officers, and, to a certain extent, 
in consequence, the abilities of Knox have been depreciated by the 
voice of envy. A favorite charge against him is that he advised the 
unfortunate delay at Chew's mansion, daring the battle of German- 
town, which is thought to have assisted in producing defeat on that 
occasion; but, in justice to Knox, it must be remembered that though 
the halt was made at his suggestion, others shared in the responsi- 
bility ; and, moreover, the leaving a garrisoned house, or other fort, 
in the rear of an advancing army was, at that period, and indeed 
until Napoleon changed the whole art of war, regarded as a fatal 
error. 

The life of Knox, after the close of the war, was comparatively 
uneventful. On the resignation of Major-General Lincoln, as Secre- 
tary of War, under the old confederation, Knox was appointed to 
supply his place; and in 1789, on the organization of the present 
federal government, he was selected by Washington for the same 
high and honorable office. In 1794 he retired from this post of 
dignity, and settled, with his family, atThomaston, in Maine, where 
his wife, a descendant of General Waldo, possessed large tracts of 
land. He sat at the council board of Massachusetts for some years, 
Maine, at that period, behig a dependency of the former state. In 
both private and public life he bore an unimpeachable character. 
Mild, generous, the soul of honor, charitable to the poor, to his 
equals affable, few men, of that or any succeeding generation, have 
been more deservedly esteemed than General Knox. His person 
was remarkably noble ; and his manners were elegant and refined. 
He was fond of literature, a taste, perhaps, acquired in his youthful 
profession. General Knox died suddenly, on the 25th of October, 
1806, from mortification arising from swallowing a chicken-bone. 

Knox was the founder of the society of Cincinnati. For many 
years he lived on his estates in Maine in a style of almost princely 
magnificence. It was not an unusual thing for him to make up in 
summer one hundred beds daily in his house, and to kill an ox and 
twenty sheep every Monday morning. He kept several pairs of 
carriage horses, and twenty saddle horses, principally for the use of 
his guests. A style of living so expensive at last impaired his for- 
tune. He had counted on almost boundless wealth from the sales 
of his lands, but his expectations were disappointed. Having lived 
on the most familiar terms with General Lhicoln, Colonel Jackson, 



358 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLrTION. 



and other officers of the Revohition, when he failed the two former 
gentlemen were his endorsers to a large anionnt. An interview took 
place to see what arrangement could be made to liquidate the debts 
of Knox. For awhile there was profound silence ; then Knox, look- 
ing up, met the eye of Lincoln, whose confidence he had unwittingly 
abused, and burst into tears. Lincoln brushed his own eyes and 
said, " This will never do, gentlemen, we have come here to transact 
business," and took up a paper. The whole three lived together 
like brothers. The anecdote is narrated on the authority of the 
Honorable William Sullivan, who was present, in his professional 
capacity, at the meeting. 





©/^imOM SITE [y IBEit^o 



/Ct^ UJ ayuO^l^ (/(>■ y^^^l^f-iiC^/i 




BARON STEUBEN. 




REDERICK 

William Au- 
gustus, Bar- 
on Steuben, a 
Major -Gene- 
ral in the con- 
tinental armyf 
was born, it 
is believed, in 
Suabia, in the 
year 1730. He 
served with 
distinction in 
the army of 
the great Fre- 
derick, attained the honor of Aid-de-camp to that monarch, and, at 
the peace of 1763, when he retired from Prussia, was presented by 
the King with a canonry in the cathedral of Harelburg. His military 
talents were still remembered in Berlin, many years afterwards; for 
when Congress applied to the different European courts for a tran- 
script of their military codes, the Prime Minister of Frederick replied 
that their regulations had never been published, but that the Baron 

359 



360 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

Steuben, who was in America, could give the necessary information, 
as he was acquainted with the minutest details of the Prussian sys- 
tem. 

On his retirement from Berlin, Baron Steuben went to Hohenzol- 
len-Hechingen, where he was made Grand Marshal of the Court, 
and appointed Colonel of the circle of Suabia. In the year 1767, the 
Prince Margrave of Baden bestowed on him the title of General, 
with the chief command of the troops. The income of Steuben now 
amounted to about three thousand dollars, which was a sufficiently 
ample sum for his rank so long as he remained a bachelor. He had, 
therefore, no idea of abandoning his comparatively lucrative em- 
ployments, and embarking in an uncertain contest in a distant land ; 
especially at his advanced years. But, happening to visit Paris, he 
was prevailed on to offer his services to the American Congress, by 
the solicitations of the French minister, who, although the Court of 
Versailles had not yet declared in favor of the Americans, desired 
secretly to aid them, by sending over some experienced officer to 
train and discipline the troops. Accordingly, on the 26th of Septem- 
ber, 1777, Steuben, with his suite, set sail from Marsailles, having 
first resigned all his employmeiits in Europe. 

Dr. Franklin, though anxious to secure the services of the Baron, 
had declined making any arrangement with Steuben, his powers not 
authorizing him to do so. On his arrival in America, therefore, 
Steuben waited on Congress with his recommendations, stating that 
he came to act as a volunteer until it should be seen whether his 
assistance would be of value or not ; that, if his services proved no 
acquisition, he should ask no compensation ; but that, if they were 
beneficial, he would trust in the honor of Congress to remunerate 
him for the income he had sacrificed and give him whatever further 
allowance might be thought deserved. These modest terms were 
immediately acceded to by Congress, and Steuben ordered to repair 
to head-quarters. 

At this period the Army was at Valley Forge, suff'ering all the 
horrors of an inclement winter, without proper food, shelter or 
clothing. Five thousand men were in the hospitals. Discipline had 
almost disappeared in the general suffering. Indeed there never 
had been yet, in the American army, that vigorous attention to this 
subject which distinguished the camps of Europe ; and the disastrous 
consequences were felt whenever the raw levies of Washington met 
the trained veterans of Great Britain in the open field. There was 
no general system of tactics employed, but the men from each state 
drilled differently. Many were ignorant of the manual exercise ; 



BARON STEUBEN. 



361 



very few understood field movements: and, to add to the evil, the 
officers were as mitaught as the common soldiers. The utmost 
carelessness prevailed in the use of arms, the discharged recruits 
frequently carrying home their equipments, while the new levies 
always came without weapons, so that it was customary to allow 
five thousand muskets beyond the numbers of the muster roll, to 
supply the waste, Washhigton had long seen and regretted this 
evil. But he had sought in vain for a remedy. The arrival of 
Baron Steuben, however, at once relieved him of his difficuUy, for 
he saw that, in this experienced veteran, he had found the very man 
so long desired. The Baron immediately undertook the task of 
drilling the men, and inspecting their weapons. He trained a com- 
pany himself as a beginning. After partially instructing the officers 
as well as the privates, for a considerable time, he began to reap the 
fruits of his exertions. The army assumed coherence. The troops 
manoeuvred with the precision of veterans. There was no longer 
anv waste of arms and ammunition. But this reform was not 




BARON STEUBEN DRILLING THK AMERICAN ARMY. 



brought about until after great perseverence and much vexation on 
the part of the Baron. His almost entire ignorance of our language, 
his impetuous temper, and the blunders of the troops, frequently 

46 FF 



362 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION 

conspired to produce the most ludicrous scenes. On one of these 
occasions, after exhausting all the execrations he could think of in 
German and French, he called despairingly to one of his Aids, 
" Venez, Walker, mon ami ! Sacre, de gaucherie of dese badants, 
je ne puis plus. I can curse dem no more." 

The Baron had been in the camp but a short time when Wash- 
ington wrote to Congress. " I should do injustice, if I were to be longer 
silent with regard to the merits of Baron Steuben. His expectations 
with respect to rank extend to that of Major-General. His finances, 
he ingenuously confesses, will not admit of his serving without the 
incidental emoluments ; and Congress, I presume, from his character, 
and their own knowledge of him, will without difficulty gratify him 
hi these particulars." On the 5th of May, 1778, Steuben was, ac- 
cordingly, appointed Inspector-General, with the rank and pay of a 
Major-General. The department of inspection was now arranged 
on a permanent footing, and thoroughly systematized. The Baron, 
finding the European military systems too comphcated, varied them 
so as to be adapted to the condition and character of the American 
army; and, in 1779, he published, at the request of Congress, a work 
on discipline and inspection, which continued, until after the close 
of the century, to be the standard in most of the states. It was 
owing in a great measure to the instructions of the Baron that the 
American troops acquitted themselves at Monmouth so much like 
veterans. He was justly proud of his own services and of the 
proficiency of his pupils. He wrote, on a subsequent occasion, 
" Though we are so young that we scarce begin to walk, we have 
already taken Stony Point and Paulus Hook, at the point of the 
bayonet and without firing a single shot." Perhaps the advantages 
of discipline were never exhibited so strikhigly as in the superior 
elficacy of the American soldiers after Steuben's arrival in this 
country. He found the troops raw militia : he made them resolute 
veterans. On his arrival, Washington, from necessity, was still 
fighting with the pickaxe and the spade ; but within a year Steuben 
had rendered the men fit to cope in the open field, even with the 
renowned grenadiers of Cornwallis. The magic wand by which he 
did this was discipline. 

In July 1778, the Baron became desirous of exchanging his post 
as Inspector-General for a command of equal honor in the regular 
line. Hitherto, in consequence of his being attached to a distinct 
department, his rank as Major-General had not interfered with the 
claims of any one ; but, if his request had been granted, the promo- 
tion of all the Brigadiers in succession would have had to be post- 



HAnON STKTTRRN. 363 

poned. Con<?ress accordingly, at Washington's suggestion, declined 
acceding to this desire. At the same time, however, that body 
confirmed Steuben's absolute authority in the department of Ins[)ec- 
tor-General, in opposition to the claims of the Inspector-General in 
the army of Gates, who asserted his independence of Steuben. Tlie 
Baron, perhaps, recognized the justice of the refusal, for he never 
renewed the request. He was, liowevcr, occasionally indulged in a 
separate command whenever circimistances would allow it. In 1780 
he was sent to join the army of Greene, but remained in Virginia to 
prepare and forward recruits. The invasion of Cornwallis found him 
thus engaged, and he had the satisfaction, after joining his forces to 
those of LaFayette, to follow up the fugitive General, and command 
in the trenches at Yorktown on the day when a capitulation was 
proposed, a post of honor which he maintained, in accordance with 
the usages of European warfare, until the British flag was struck. 

After the peace, the Baron was reduced to comparative want, in 
vain he applied to Congress to renumerate liim lor what he had 
sacrificed in its behalf: for while the propriety of his claim was 
admitted, no active measures were taken to liquidate it. For seven 
years he fruitlessly petitioned the nation for justice. At last, on the 
adoption of the federal constitution, an act was passed by Congress 
to give him an annuity of twenty-five hundred dollars. Meantime, 
however, Virginia and New Jersey had each presented him with a 
small gift of land ; and New York had voted him sixteen thousand 
acres in the Oneida tract. But he did not live many years to enjoy it. 
On the 25th of November, 1794, he was struck with paralysis and 
died three days afterwards. He was buried in the forest, on his 
farm, not far from Utica. Subse(|uently, a road having been laid 
out to run over his grave, his remains were taken up and re-interred 
at a little distance, where a monument was erected over the ashes. 

Steuben was of incalculable service to tlie American cause hy 
introducing the European discipline into the army. He made an 
excellent General for regulars, but could not manage militia with 
any success. In disposition he was afi'ectionate, generous and warm- 
hearted. He had, in many things, the simplicity of a cliild. His 
temper was quick, but he was always ready to make amends for 
injustice. On one occasion he had arrested an olficer for throwing 
the line into disorder, but, finding him innocent, he apologized, tlie 
next day, at the head of the regiment, his hat off, and the rain pour- 
ing on his silvery head. In Virginia he sold his camp equipage to 
give a dinner to the French ollicers, declaring that he would keep 
up the credit of the army even if he had to eat from a wooden spoon 



364 



XPE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



for the rest of his hfe. When the troops were being disbanded, and 
he had the cheerless prospect of a pennyless old age before him, he 
gave almost his last dollar to a brother officer with a family, who 
was too poor to return home. Cheerful in the gloomiest affairs, 
generous to a fault, a little vain of his rank, a warm friend, a hearty 
enemy to meanness : such was Baron Steuben. May his name be 
long held in remembrance by that country for which he sacrificed 
so much ! 





CHARLES LEE 




^HARLES LEE, a Major-General 
in the American army, was one of 
'those erratic men in whom passion 
triumphs over reason, and preju- 
dice frequently over both. He 
possessed unquestionable ability, but, exercising no 
.control over his temper, was always dangerous to 
himself and others. An Englishman by birth he 
became a Republican from whim ; ambition rather 
than patriotism led him to embark in the American 
cause ; impatient of control he aspired after a sepa- 
rate, if not the supreme command ; haughty and 
irascible, he invited a trial of popularity between 
Washington and himself, and was punished, for his 
extravagant self-conceit, by the loss of public confi- 
dence : in short, he was a man whose whole life presented a series 
of blunders, and who, beginning with every advantage on his side, 
finished, through his own folly, in disappointment, obscurity and 
disgrace ! His violent passions were the ruin of the once celebrated 

Charles Lee. 

• PF* 365 



366 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

Charles Lee was the son of General John Lee, of Dernhall, in 
Cheshire, England ; and was born in 1731. He was naturally of 
quick parts and made rapid advances in education. At eleven years 
of age he received a commission in the army. His first experience 
in the field, however, was during the old French war. He came to 
America in 1757, shortly after having purchased a Captaincy in the 
twenty-fourth regiment of infantry ; and, at the memorable assault 
on Ticonderoga, was wounded while attempting to penetrate the 
French breastworks. He recovered in time for the ensuing cam- 
paign, and was one of the expedition against Fort Niagara, After 
the defeat of the enemy, Lee, with a small party, was sent to dis- 
cover what became of the remnant of the army ; and it was these 
troops which were the first English ones that crossed Lake Erie : 
he passed down the western branch of the Ohio to Fort Pitt, and, in 
his return, marched seven hundred miles across the country to Crown 
Point. In 1760, Lee was with the expedition that captured Mon- 
treal. After the close of the war in America he returned to England, 
and soon after, being promoted to a Lieutenant-Colonelcy, was sent 
out to Portugal, with the forces destined to aid that ancient ally of 
England in her contest with Spain. Here he acquitted himself with 
gallantry, especially in a night assault on the Spanish forces, wjiich 
drew down encomiums from all parties. Tlie strife ended in a single 
campaign, and Lee returned to England. 

Lee, from the period of his service in America, had always taken 
a lively interest in its affairs : and he now drew up a plan, and sub- 
mitted it to the ministry, for colonizing the country on the Ohio be- 
low the Wabash, and in Illinois. The ministry rejected his plan. 
Soon after the difficulties between the mother country and the colo- 
nies began ; and Lee, guided probably as much by personal dislike 
as by his political tendencies, embarked in the controversy against 
England. His active and restless spirit having no longer the stimu- 
los of war to feed its love of excitement, he plunged into the tur- 
moil of politics and soon proved himself possessed of a ready pen. 
His wit was scorching, his invective bitter, his boldness as a writer 
captivating to the popular taste. In the midst of this dispute, the 
threat of a war in Poland arrested his attention : the love of glory, 
the thirst of rank, and a chivalrous sentiment in favor of that ancient 
and abused nation, determined him to offer her his services. He 
went in the true spirit of a knight-errant and was received favorably 
by Stanislaus, who had just been elected King. He remained two 
years in Poland, but as hostilities did not break out, he became dis- 
satisfied with inaction, and from mere restlessness accompanied the 



CHARLES LEE, 367 

Polish embassy to Constantinople. Abandoning the mission, in order 
to advance with more celerity, he came near perishing of cold and 
hunger on the Bulgarian mountains. At the close of 1766 he re- 
turned to England, with a letter of recommendation to the King, 
and solicited promotion : but, though many promises were made 
him, they were never fulfilled, his former violent invectives, and a 
letter attacking General Townsend and Lord Sackville, attributed 
to him, preventing any favors from the ministry. Lee, at last, 
finding he had been trifled with, and that he possessed no chance 
of promotion in England, gave way to a violent resentment against 
the King personally and the party in power. This hostility remained 
with him to his grave. During his visit to his native country, he con- 
tinued in intimate correspondence with King Stanislaus, and finally in 
December, 1768, leaving London on a visit to the south of France, met 
Prince Czartorinsky in Paris, and was induced to accompany him to 
Warsaw. Here the King received him as a brother, and made him 
a Major-General, The purpose of Lee in returning to Poland was to 
enter the Russian service : but he could not forget the animosities 
he bore against the government at home. In one of his letters to a 
friend in England, after saying how unpopular his native country 
was in Poland, he says: "A French comedian was the other day 
near being hanged, from the circumstance of his wearing a bob-wig, 
which, by the confederates, is supposed to be the uniform of the 
English nation. / wish to God the three branches of our Legisla- 
ture would take it into their heads to travel through the woods of 
Poland in bob-wigs." This little stroke of wit shews, at once, his 
bitter animosity and his fatal ability in expressing it. It goes far 
towards unravelling the riddle of his failure in life. 

In 1769 he joined the Russian army on the Neister, and served 
during that year's campaign. As usual, he abused the superior 
officers, A severe rheumatism attacking him he visited Vienna and 
afterwards Italy, everywhere mingling in the highest society. In 
1770 he returned again to England. Here he plunged once more 
into the angry sea of political strife ; and the man who had been 
the friend of kings, became the asserter of republican principles. 
His reputation as a writer has procured for him, since his death, the 
credit with some persons, of being the author of Junius ; but it is 
sufficient to say that the evidence in favor of this claim is entirely 
insufficient, and that to Sir Philip Francis more justly belongs that 
honor. In 1773, in anticipation of a war, he sailed for America, 
and on his arrival, made no secret of his intention to reside in 
New York. The zeal he displayed in the cause of the colonies, his 



368 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

eloquent declamation, and the romance that hung about a man who 
had oliered his sword to Poland, and crossed blades with the Ottoman, 
soon won him the hearts of the people, as well as the confidence of 
the leaders, and opened to his ambitious soul the prospect of a daz- 
zling career. He had formerly been intimate with General Gage, 
but did not now call on that officer, or pay him any tokens of re- 
spect : a course of conduct which he defended in a public letter, 
complimentary to Gage as a man, but not as a patriot. A somewhat 
similar letter, in which the controversy between the colonies and the 
mother country was examined, he wrote to Lord Percy. After tra- 
velling through the middle, and subsequently the eastern provinces, 
Lee returned to Philadelphia in time for the session of the first Con- 
gress. Here he became acquainted with the members, and paved 
the way for the future confidence they reposed in him. A well 
timed pamphlet assisted him in this. Dr. Myles Cooper, of New 
York, an Episcopal clergymen, a very excellent divine but altogether 
a pretender in politics, wrote what he called, " A Friendly Address 
to all Reasonable Americans," in which he argued, in effect, for pas- 
sive obedience, and undertook to terrify the colonists with the formi- 
dable armies of Great Britain. This foolish affair falling in Lee's 
way, he attacked it with such logic and declamation, as hooted it at 
once into disgrace, and elevated Lee even higher than before, in the 
esteem of the country. In consequence, when the army came to be 
formed in the succeeding year, he was elevated to the rank of second 
Major-General, and would have been made first, but that Congress 
could not avoid giving that rank to General Ward, whom they had 
displaced from the post of Commander-in-chief, by the election of 
Washington, The resignation of Ward soon made Lee second in 
command. It is probable he had, at one time, entertained hopes of 
being placed at the head of the army, but to this his foreign birth 
presented an insuperable objection. He acquiesced for a time, how- 
ever, generously, if not candidly, in the decision. 

Before accepting this commission, Lee resigned the one he held 
in the British army, but characteristically observed that whenever his 
majesty should call on him to fight against the enemies of his coun- 
try, or in defence of his just rights and dignity, no man would obey 
the summons with more alacrity. By thus declaring himself on the 
American side, he jeopardized an income of nearly one thousand 
pounds, besides other property, which it was in the power of the 
King to confiscate, nor did he make any stipulation with Congress to 
be indemnified, though that body, not to be outdone in generosity, 
resolved, as recorded on the secret journal, that Lee should be remu- 



CHARLES LEE. 369 

nerated for any loss he might sustain in the service. On arriving at 
Cambridge, General Lee was assigned the command of the left wing 
of the army, and was received with a respect second only to that 
awarded to Washington, His experience in military affairs was of 
the most essential service to the cause at this period. The high esti- 
mation in which he stood, as well as his elevated rank, induced the 
Commander-in-chief to send him to take command of New York, on 
the rumor of an expedition by Clinton against that place. He de- 
sired this post particularly, and was especially indignant against the 
tories who were so numerous there : " not to crush these serpents," 
he said, " before their rattles are grown, would be ruinous." 

The citizens of New York were alarmed at the approach of Gene- 
ral Lee, for they feared his presence would be a signal for the Bri- 
tish armed ships in the harbor to fire on the town. Lee, however, 
prudently quieted their fears. He fortified the town, adopted strin- 
gent measures against the tories on Long Island, and was active in 
enlarging and disciplining the force preparatory for the defence of 
the place. While thus busily employed, intelligence was received 
of the death of Montgomery, and Lee, within two weeks after his 
arrival at New York, was selected to succeed him. The words in 
which John Adams alluded to this choice were higlily flattering. 
" We want you at New York," he said, "we want you at Cam- 
bridge ; we want you in Virginia ; but Canada seems of more im- 
portance than any of these places, and therefore you are sent there." 
In a few days, however, his destination was changed for the south- 
ern department, it having been ascertained that Sir Henry Clinton 
intended proceeding thither. On his way to South Carolina, Lee 
stopped in Virginia a.nd rendered himself useful against Lord Dun- 
more. He here caused armed boats to be constructed for the rivers, 
and attempted to form a body of cavalry. He advised the seizure 
of General Eden. An intercepted correspondence between Lord 
George Germain and that gentleman, revealing that the purpose of the 
enemy was to proceed to the more southern colonies, Lee speedily 
moved towards North, and afterwards to South Carolina, where, 
at the head of an army hastily collected, he prepared to resist the 
enemy on landing, a contingency which did not occur, the gallant 
defence of Fort Sullivan rendering Lee's forces useless. 

After being in command of the southern department six montlis, 
he was recalled to the north by Congress, and on the 14th of Octo- 
ber, joined the army on the Hudson, where the charge of the right 
wing was committed to him. He arrived in time Jo urge strongly, 
in a council of war, the impolicy of garrisoning Fort Washington, 
47 



"70 rnv. hkuovs ok thk uFvin.vnoN. 

ami the result justified Ins views; but Congress, hail, in tact, decided 
ill tavor of the measure, by desiring the Comniaiuler-iu-chiet", *' by 
every act, to obstruct elfectually the navigation oi the North Hiver 
between Fort "NVasliington and Mount Constitution." Subsequently, 
when the British forced the ehevaux-de-frise and ascended beyond 
the forts, Washington wrote to General Greene, expressing an opin- 
ion in favor of abandoning the tint ; but tlie latter was too sanguine, 
and hence the loss of the place. Now ensued the terrible retreat 
through the Jerseys. Up to this period the conduct ot'Cicneral Lee 
had been not only meritorious, but highly praiseworthy ; but tVom 
this time it began to assume a dubious asjiect. When the retreat 
commenced he had been stationed with the rear of the army, in mmi- 
ber about seven thousand tive hundred men ; and Washington, 
every day more hard pressed by the enemy, continued writing tor 
him to hasten to the main army. These messages were sent tVoni 
Hackensack, Newark, Brunswick, and 'rrenton. at tirst requesting, 
then urging Lee to bring up his troo{>s by the s[)eediest route. Lee 
desired lieath, who commanded in the Highlands, to send tbrward 
two thousand ot' his men, but tliis he refused to do, when a sharp 
altercation ensued, Lee commanding as Heath's superior ollicer. 
Heath pleading the orders oi' Washington; the latter o( whom, on 
being ret'erred to. sustained Heath. At last Lei^ \nn his troo[is in 
motion, his lorce now consisting ot" three thousand men. the remain- 
der having returned home on the expiration ot' their enlistments. 
Messages continually arrived tVom Washington, pressing the lagging 
General to hurry forward. It must be recollected that this was the 
crisis of the Revolution ; that dark hour just betbre the battle oi' Tren- 
ton, when the patriotism of New Jersey was already shivering in 
the wind; when secret traitors in the American camp plotted deser- 
tion ; when the cause hung by a single thread only, and everything 
depended on the strength aiul tidelity of Washington's little army. 
The tardiness of Lee at such a time, when the junction of his troops 
would have doubled the force of the Commander-in-chiel", is inexcu- 
sable, and must fill all candid minds with distrust. The only ratituial 
explanation of his conduct is that he had already become alienated 
from Washington, and sought to plunge him into inextric;ible dilli- 
culties in revenge. Or, perhaps, that he hoped to be able to achieve 
some brilliant deed on his own responsibility,, which shouUl enable 
him to aspire to the supreme command, in case of the capture of 
Washuigton, of his death in battle, or of his rcnunal by Congress. 

But these calculations were Irnstratcd by two mvtbrseen events, 
the capture of Lee himself, and Washington's victory at Trenton. 



cir Aui.KH MHO. .'571 

L(;(; \v;i,s rn;i(|(; ;i |)ris()tic-r ;iJ, U.-iskiiii/iidiM', on I.li<; l.'iUiol Ditccinljcr, 
t<;n (|;iys ;iri(r Ik; crossed llw; lliidsoii. I'"or soirn; ifs'isons, Ji<;v<;r cx- 
pluiiicd, Ii(;(; li;id l,;di(;(i up liis (jiiiirlcrs (or lln; rii;.'lil,, willi ;i, .small 
LMiiinl, ;i( ;i solil;iry lioiisi; ahoiil, llircc riiil(!.s frorii his (iMc.'irnprrKtril.. 
A lory, discovciint^ this fiict,, <;oiririiiitiin;il,('d il lo (!ol<»iirl H.nconrl, 
a spiritcij liril.ish o/lircr, at that, lirnr; sr;oiiritiif ihc romilry with a 
party of dr.'i^oons. Ilcn;, just aflitr hrcjildiist, the ('olon<;l surprised 
Lee, ;iiid phiriii;/ him on a horse, without a. h;it, e,|;id only in a 
l)ianl<el-coat and slippers, j.^illoj)e(l oil' with him in trium|)h to the 
liritish aririy at Hnmswiek. His (;;ipture, riotwithst;ui(Jin^ liis hite 
conduct, was rotjardod as a serious hlow hy Ihr; Atficricaris. The; 
puhlie symp.'ithy soon l)eeam<; wiirmly arousi;(J in liis favor, (!spe- 
eially when it was understofxj that he was to he sent to l']nf.dan<i 
tor trial as a deserter; ;in(J ('ongress irmnedi.itely ordered five Hes- 
sian tield-ollieers, atui Jiitjutenant-CJolonel (';i,mphell, then a. prison(;r 
in lioston, to he imprisoned until the liritish should eonsent to treat 
|j(j(! as a prison<;i' of war, and <!xcliaiif.^e him on e'pHl;i|)le t(;rfns. 
Howe, in this em(!r;.M;ncy, wrote home for instruc,tions, ainJ tla; Min- 
ister, taking <-ounsel of [jriid<;nf;(!, yielded. TIk! ne^otiati(;n, however, 
consurned nine months, during all which time Lee was uncertain of 
his fate. He |jrohahly ow(;d hiis life to the firm attitiide assum<:d in 
his helialf, hy Cont,M'ess and the Cornrnan(Jer-in-ehief 

Lee joined the American army, after his exchange, at Valley 
Forge, in May, 1778. JJut he did not return to the service with his 
old popularity. ()th(;r ofIicf;rs, rn(;antime, Fiad performed brilliant 
deeds, and shorn him of the laurels which he might have gained if 
free, 'i'he mode of his eaptur*; wore an air f»f thie ridiculous, and 
a.ppeared such as no judicious o/Iicer f;ould j)0ssihly encount(;r. 
.Moreover, the rernornhrance of his conduct in delaying to jrnn 
Washington fjroduced unfavorable impressions tf)wards him; for 
men said that a subordinate ought to obey, right or wrong, and 
leave the responsibility with his superior. 'rh<;re appeared, on a 
review of his career; a general assumption of authority on the part 
of Lee, a haughtiness, an irascibility of temper, a scorn and self- 
conceit which not all his cFiivalry, his frankness, and his devotion to 
the cause of liberty could make the public forget; and though pity 
lor his late misfortunes, for the present kept these feelings in the back- 
ground, a circumstance soon occurred, which revived them in all 
their force, and by exhibiting the litifavorable points of liis character 
in a stronger light than ever, produced the permanent ruin of Lee. 
We allude, of course, to the battle of Monmouth. 

No sooner was it known, in the American camp, that Clmton hud 



372 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

abandoned Philadelphia, and begun his retreat through New-Jersey, 
than Washington, about the middle of June, 1778, set his troops in 
motion for the pursuit. The Commander-in-chief was anxious to 
join battle with his adversary ; but to this his otRcers were almost 
unanimously opposed. The British General's first intention had 
been to reach New York by the way of Brunswick, but after ascend- 
ing the Delaware as far as Bordentown, he learned that Washington 
had already occupied the high grounds which commanded that 
route. He was accordingly forced to abandon his original design, 
and, turning off toward Crosswicks, he proceeded through Allentown 
to Monmouth Court House, intending to reach South Amboy in this 
more circuitous way. At Monmouth Court House he rested for 
several days, having chosen, for his position, a wooded hill, sur- 
rounded by swamps, and almost inaccessible. 

During this retreat Washington had moved along the more ele- 
vated grounds to the northward, in nearly a parallel line to his 
enemy, thus retaining the power to give or withhold battle. No 
means of annoying Sir Henry, meantime, were neglected. A strong 
corps hvmg on his left flank, a regiment followed on his rear, and 
Colonel Morgan watched his right. Washington appears to have 
secretly wished for a battle during the whole march, and as the 
British approached the end of their journey he gradually drew his 
forces around them. He now again called a council of his officers, 
and proposed that battle should be given. But the measure was 
negatived a second time. It was, however, agreed that the corps 
on the left flank of the enemy should be strengthened, and that the 
main body of the army should move in close vicinity to it, so as to 
be at hand to support it in case of an emergency. Among those 
who opposed a battle were Generals Lee and Du Portail, and the 
venerable Baron Steuben. These officers considered the discipline 
of the Americans so inferior to that of the British, as to render 
defeat inevitable, in case the two armies should engage on equal 
terms ; and the influence of their opinions brought over most of the 
junior officers to that side. Wayne, Cadwalader, La Fayette and 
Greene, appear to have been the only ones who differed from the 
council ; and the two first alone were openly in favor of a battle. 
When the council decided so much against his wishes, Washington 
resolved to act on his own responsibility. The British were already 
approaching Monmouth ; twelve miles further on were the Heights 
of Middletown. If the enemy reached these latter all hope of bring- 
ing him to an action, unless with his own consent, would be gone. 
The blow, if struck at all, must be given at once. 



CHAKT.ES LEE. 373 

To bring on a battle, Washington resolved to strengthen still fur- 
ther the force on the enemy's left flank, now the advanced corps : 
and accordingly he detached Wayne to join it with a thousand men. 
This command, about four thousand strong, was thought of sufficient 
importance to be entrusted to one of the Major-Generals ; and the post, 
of right, belonged to Lee. But having advised against the battle, and 
believing nothing serious was intended, he allowed La Fayette to take 
his place. Scarcely had he yielded, however, before he learned the 
importance of the post, .and solicited Washington to restore it to 
him ; " otherwise," to use his own phrase, " both he and Lord Stir- 
ling, (the seniors of La Fayette) would, be disgraced." To spare 
his feelings, Washington suggested a compromise. He sent Lee to 
join the Marquis, with two additional brigades ; but, in order that 
the feelings of La Fayette might not be wounded, he stipulated that 
if any scheme of attack had been formed for the day, Lee should 
not interfere with it. The intelligence of this change, and of the 
stipulation he had made, Washington himself communicated to La 
Fayette. No plan of attack, however, had been formed, and by the 
night of the 27th Lee, was in full command of the advanced corps. 

His army lay at Englishtown, not five miles distant from Mon- 
mouth, where the British were encamped. • Washington, with the 
rear division, was but three miles behind ; and almost his last duty, 
before he retired, was to send word for Lee to attack the enemy as soon 
as Clinton should have begun his march. He also detached Greene, 
with a sufficient force, to move on the enemy's flank, taking a cir- 
cuitous route in order to fall into the main road again, just before 
reaching Monmouth Court House. These arrangements were known 
at the outer posts, and a battle on the morrow prognosticated : so 
that the sentry, as he walked his rounds during that short summer 
night, speculated often on the fortunes of the coming day. 

The morning had scarcely dawned, when the British army began 
its march, Knyphausen with the baggage going first, while Corn- 
wallis, with the flower of the army, followed behind. This arrange- 
ment was adopted by Clinton, in consequence of having become 
aware of the movements of the Americans on his flank ; and, like 
an able General, he strengthened his rear for the combat which he 
began to see was inevitable in that quarter. As there was but a 
single road for his army to traverse, the train of baggage wagons 
and of horses reached for twelve miles. Accordingly, although the 
van of the column began to move at four o'clock, the rear of it did 
not get into motion until nearly eight; and it was not until after 
this hour that the grenadiers of Cornwallis, with Clinton and him- 

GG 



374 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

self at their head, left the heights of Freehold, where they had been 
encamped during the night, and began to descend into the wooded 
plain below, through which the road wound for miles, amid woods, 
swamps and low defiles. Meantime, Lee had received a second 
courier from Washington, who, hearing the enemy was in motion, 
sent orders to his subordinate to attack the British, " unless there 
should be powerful reasons to the contrary," promising to hasten 
up with the reserves and sustain the battle. Accordingly Lee began 
his march, and by nine o'clock reached the heights of Freehold, 
which the English rear had left just before. As the Americans 
gained the brow of the elevation they beheld the splendid grenadiers 
of the enemy, moving in compact masses, along the valley below ; 
while further on was visible the long line of baggage wagons, toiling 
like some huge serpent through the dusty plain, here lost in the woods, 
there re-appearing in the open country, until finally vanishing in the 
obscure distance. This magnificent spectacle was seen only for a 
moment ; for, descending into the level ground, Lee prepared to 
attack the foe. His plan was to let Wayne press on the covering 
party of the British rear, while he himself, taking a circuitous route, 
should gain its front and cut it otf from the main body. 

But Clinton was not thus to be surprised. His scouts having 
brought him early information of Lee's movement on his tiank, he 
collected his forces with the intention of precipitating them in over- 
whelming volume on his antagonist. There was no other way, 
indeed, to parry the blow. The baggage was engaged in a succes- 
sion of defiles, extending for several miles, and to protect it, it was 
necessary to turn boldly on the pursuers. By pressing them hard, 
Clinton hoped he might crush them before Washington could arrive 
to their aid ; for the American Commander-in-chief was five miles 
in the rear of Lee, and separated from him by two defiles difficult 
to pass. Even if he should have eventually to meet the whole force 
of his enemy, Clinton trusted, in these defiles, to be at least able to 
hold him in check. But, in order to render his designs as sure of 
success as possible, he despatched word to Knyphausen to send back 
reinforcements to the rear. This succor was obtahied without its 
being at first perceived by Lee, for the intervening forest hid the 
movement from sight. It was not long, however, before his scouts 
brought in the intelligence that Clinton appeared in greater force than 
they had expected ; and when Lee, alarmed at this information, gal- 
loped to the front to reconnoitre, he was startled to find nearly the 
whole British army advancing against him, their dense and glittering 
masses swarming on the plain. 



CHARLES LEE. 375 

It is in moments such as this that great generals perform those 
prodigies of valor, and achieve those wonders of tactics, which 
make their names immortal ! But Lee was under tlie iulluence of 
leelings which prevented his making any such splendid efl'ort ! We 
cannot suppose that the retreat which ensued was in consequeiicu 
of any treachery on his part: we must therefore assign the cause to 
his want of self-confidence, or a secret resolution to make goi^d his 
late opinion. He had a morass in his rear and a disciplined enemy 
in front : here was reason sufiicient to induce a weak man to abandon 
the field. But he had received orders to attack, with an assurance 
of speedy support : this ought to have sufficed for a brave man and 
an obedient officer. The truth is, Lee had advised against a 
battle, and was not sorry to find his opinion apparently sustained by 
results : he saw sufficient in the present conjuncture to excuse him, 
he thought, in making a retreat. At first, indeed, he resolved to 
form and await the enemy, but some of his troops crossing the 
morass in his rear under a mistaken order, he changed his mind, and 
precipitately fell back in the direction of the main army, without 
firing a gun. Lee's exaggerated fear of the English veterans is 
shown in this little incident, as it had been before displayed at the 
attack on Charleston, when he advised the abandonment of Fort 
Moultrie ; and, without any imputation on his courage or his fidel- 
ity, assists to explain his conduct. 

Clinton, finding his foe retreating, briskly advanced to the attack, 
preceded by the Queen's light dragoons; these, charging a body of 
liorse led by La P'ayette, drove them back in disorder. The route 
of the retreating Americans lay along a valley, about one mile broad 
and three long, cut up by ravines atid sprinkled with clumps of wood- 
land. Into one of these bits of forest, the Americans now plunged 
themselves, from which they emerged in four columns, at a distance 
of twelve hundred paces, about a mile beyond the village of Mon- 
mouth. Here they made a temj^orary stand, and placed a battery ; 
but on the approach of the British they fell back again without a 
discharge ; at the same time a detachment formed in front of the 
village retired also without resistance. The whole of the advanced 
corps under Lee was now in lull retreat. Flushed with what they 
considered a certain victory, though almost incredible at the ease 
with which it had been purchased, the British thundered hotly in 
pursuit, their long line of burnished muskets flashing in the sunshim;, 
as they poured out from the woods and debouched into the oj)en 
ground in front. The sight of these magnificent troops, and the 
splendid manner in which they manoeuvred, increased Lee's want 



376 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION, 

of confidence in his men, and rendered him more eager to pursue 
his retreat. He accordingly fell back another mile, when he again 
halted. His position was now comparatively tenable, with a ravine 
in front, and woods on either flank. A couple of cannon, well 
placed, would have commanded the approaches, and enabled him 
to maintain himself until succor should arrive ; but, overcome by 
fears, at the approach of the enemy, he once more gave the order to 
retire, and flung himself into the forest on the left. Into its recesses 
the British eagerly followed him, and soon the woods rang far and 
near with the rattle of musketry, the shouts of combatants, and the 
tread of charging infantry. Faster and faster the Americans retreat- 
ed ; but, hot and fierce, the enemy pressed in pursuit. At last a 
portion of the fugitives made a third stand, in the vicinity of some 
elevated grounds about three miles from their first position ; but they 
had scarcely formed, when the British cavalry, shaking their sabres 
in the sun, poured down to the charge. Before this terrible onset 
the Americans speedily gave way : but, ere the retreat became a 
rout, a battery of two guns, hastily unlimbered by Colonel Stuart, 
checked the advance of the victorious horse. By this time murmurs 
of dissatisfaction began to be heard among the men; who declared 
that, if led with resolution, they could maintain their ground against 
t^dce the legions of Clinton. The discontent became almost uni- 
versal : whispers of treachery on the part of Lee begun to circulate ; 
and, at last, one or more of the officers galloped from the ranks, and, 
hurrying to the rear, conveyed the startling intelligence to Washing- 
ton of the disastrous and unexpected retreat. 

While these events were in progress, the main army had left the 
encampment and was a,dvancing to sustain Lee. The day was 
excessively sultry, but, as soon as the report of the first cannon 
boomed across the distance, the troops broke into a quick-step : and 
shortly after, as the reverberations of the artillery increased, throwing 
away their knapsacks, they hurried impatiently forward. For a 
time the firing ceased, nor could the cause of this be explained. 
Anxious, and in doubt, Washington pressed on, in vain seeking some 
elevation in the road from which to gain a view of the country 
ahead : but no rising ground otfered itself, or if it did, the prospect 
was shut in by dark masses of woods. The cannonade was now 
resumed, followed by faint reports of musketry : and soon the vicinity 
of the sounds proved that the battle was close at hand. At last 
Washington reached a partly elevated ground, where he paused a 
moment to allow his troops to come up. He was standing beside 
his reeking horse, seeking a momentary shade from the noon of that 



CHARLES LEE. 377 

awful day, when he discovered the first of the fugitives from Lee's 
command; and immediately afterwards, an officer hastening for- 
ward, begged him to press on, or the battle would be inevitably lost 
Astonished and indignant, he leaped on his horse, and galloped 
furiously through the retreating ranks. In a few moments he 
reached the head, where, drawing in his bridle at the side of Lee, 
he exclaimed sharply, "What is the meaning of this ?" " Sir, sir," 
replied Lee, abashed at so severe an address. " What is all this 
confusion for, and retreat ?" retorted Washington. " I see no con- 
fusion," replied Lee, "but what has arisen from my orders not 
being obeyed. The enemy are too strong for me." " You should 
not have undertaken this command, sir, unless you intended to 
fight," was the stern reply ; and with this, Washington put spurs to 
his horse and pressing to the extreme rear of the fugitives, took a 
rapid view of the advancing enemy and of the capabilities of the 
surrounding ground for defence. His decision on the course to be 
pursued was instantaneous. His eagle eye seized the favorable 
points at once. His momentary anger had now passed away, or 
only sufficient of it remained to give a glow to his fine face, as 
riding hither and thither, his tall form towering above all, and his 
voice raised in short and stern commands, he sought to rally and 
dispose the troops. Never, it is said, was his aspect more heroic 
than on this occasion. He flashed to and fro like a god suddenly 
descended on the scene. His presence, his stirring appeals, but 
more than all his enthusiasm, at once restored courage and confi- 
dence to the men, and with loud cries they demanded to be led 
against the enemy. Hastily forming the regiments of Ramsey and 
Stuart, Washington left them to receive the first onset of the foe : 
and then hurried back to bring up his reserves. As he passed Lee, 
he ordered that officer to keep his ground, if possible, until succor 
should arrive. He had scarcely been lost to sight down the road 
when Hamilton, galloped across the fields, his horse in a foam. 
Reaching Lee's side, he grasped his hand and exclaimed, " My dear 
General, let me stay here and die with you : let us all die here rather 
than retreat !" With these words the battle again begun. 

But Lee's troops could not long withstand the assaults of the 
enemy, who came pouring down on them, flushed and triumphant 
with success. The momentary enthusiasm produced by the presence 
of Washington had subsided ; and though many were eager to perish 
where they stood rather than retire, the confidence of an army, once 
broken, is difficult to be restored ; and hence, after a brief resistance, 
the division began a new retreat. By this time, however, Washing- 

48 GG* 



378 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

ton had formed his reserves, and, opening his ranks for the fugitives 
to pass, he directed Lee to retire to Englislitown, three miles in the 
rear, and tliere collect his troops. The ground chosen by Washing- 
ton was low, but protected by a morass in front; while Knox, with 
six pieces of artillery, was thrown forward to a high ground over- 
looking the enemy's flank. Perceiving these able dispositions, Clin- 
ton checked the advance of his light infantry and turning to Wash- 
ington's left, made a feint to attack there ; but Lord Stirling, with 
some field-pieces, took post on an elevation in this quarter, and as- 
sisted by the infantry, drove back the enemy. Now, for the first 
time, the British received a positive check. Stung with mortification 
they made desperate efforts to redeem the day. Li a few minutes 
the battle became furious. Detachment after detachment of infantry, 
issuing from the American lines, charged the British wherever they 
advanced ; while, as often as the Americans retired, the British fol- 
lowed, like a returning wave. It had been ten o'clock when the 
retreat first began; it was twelve when Washington came up to Lee: 
an hour had been lost in forming the troops; and now for two hours 
more, the undulathig ground on which the armies were drawn up, 
shook with the reverberations of artillery and was darkened with 
the smoke of battle. It was the Sabbath day, and just in front of the 
American infantry rose a quiet parsonage house: yet the uproar and 
slaughter of the strife grew momently more terrible. Far away, over 
the fields, the yellowing wheat stood motionless, for not a breath of 
air was stirring ; while the atmosphere, along the lines of the low hills, 
seemed to boil in the sultry sunbeams. No Sabbath bell called wor- 
shippers to prayer: no quiet groups were seen wending their way to 
church : none of the usual holy repose of the sacred day hung over 
the landscape. But, as the sun traversed the miclouded zenith, and 
began to decline towards the west, the fury of the fight raged higher 
and fiercer, and the sulphurous smoke gathered denser along the 
ensanguined plain. 

Wayne, with an advanced corps, had taken a position on a rising 
ground, twelve rodsbehind the parsonage, and abouthalf way between 
the main body and the park of artillery under Knox. A fence ran 
across the field just in front. Several times the British grenadiers 
crossed this fence, in order to drive Wayne back from his position ; 
but, as often, the fire of our troops and artillery stationed there re- 
pulsed them in disorder. At last Colonel Monckton, their leader, in 
a short address, nearly every word of which was heard by Wayne's 
detachment, then scarcely thirty rods distant, stimulated them to a 
last desperate assault. Placing himself at their head, Monckton or- 



CHARLES LEE. 379 

dered them to advance, which they did in silence, and in as beauti- 
ful order as on parade. For a moment the Americans gazed in 
hushed admiration on these splendid troops : then the batteries 
of Knox and the musketry of Wayne's infantry opened together. 
The slaughter that ensued was the most horrible of any that had hap- 
pened yet, during the five hours of battle. The balls of the cannon 
tore up the solid ranks of the foe, in one instance a single shot dis- 
arming a whole platoon. The deadly aim of the Americans smote 
the British ranks incessantly, the officers falling as if pierced by the 
shafts of some invisible power. Colonel Monckton, while cheering 
at the head of his men, was mortally wounded. Instantly the Ameri- 
cans rushed forward to seize the body, while the British strove man- 
fully to carry it otf. Then ensued one of those desperate melees 
which Homer loved to describe, and which belong rather to romance 
than to history. Foot to foot and breast to breast the combatants 
fought, the men frequently throwing aside their arms and grappling 
in the death struggle ; while, on every part of the field there was a 
momentary pause, and all eyes turned to where that dark body of 
commingled foes swayed backwards and forwards in the strife of 
life and death. Now, the smoke, cHnging around the combatants, 
hid them from sight ; now the white masses broke away and revealed 
the tumultuous conllict. The artillery ceased firing, for friend and 
foe were inextricably linked together. One moment the Americans 
appeared to have the advantage ; the next they were seen slowly 
giving way. No cheers rose from the combatants in that mortal con- 
test ; the struggle was too earnest for words. At last the scene be- 
came one of apparently interminable confusion, where, around a pile 
of dead, groups of savage men, begrimed with smoke and covered 
with blood, flashed to and fro under the lurid canopy, like demons. 
Then the whole spectacle vanished behind that cloud of vapor ; a 
minute of suspense ensued ; and when the veil lifted, the British were 
seen driving in confusion across the fence. The Americans were 
victorious, remaining in trhimphant possession of the body, now sur- 
rounded by a hecatomb of slain ! On seeing this terrible spectacle, 
Clinton, despairing of success, abandoned his position and fell back 
behind the ravine, to the spot he had occupied when he received his 
first check, immediately after Washington met Lee. 

The engraving represents this portion of the battle field. The 
view looks to the north. At the back of the spectator, and 
to the left, is where Knox, with his artillery was posted. In the 
distance, from between the two apple trees, stretching along to the 
left of the picture, is the ground occupied by Washington. To the 



380 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

right, from the house to the end of the view, Ues the elevated ground 
wliere the British army was stationed. Wayne's division came into 
action to the right, between Knox and the enemy. 

Wiien the British were thus driven back, they seized an almost 
impregnable position, that which Lee had once occupied ; their flanks 
being secured by thick woods and morasses, and their front accessi- 
ble only through a narrow pass. The day was now declining, yet 
Washington determined on forcing the enemy from his position. 
Two brigades were accordingly detached to gain the right flank of 
the British, and Woodford, with his gallant brigade was ordered to 
turn their left. Knox opened his terrible batteries, and the battle 
once more began. The British cannon replied. The ground shook 
with the earthquake of heavy artillery, and the fields where the enemy 
had lately stood, echoed to tlie cheers of the Americans advancing to 
the charge. 

Night was now approaching, however. All through that long 
day, with the thermometer at ninety, the two armies had been en- 
gaged either in pursuing, in retreating, or in active strife ; numbers 
had died from pure exhaustion, others had their tongues so swollen 
with thirst that they could not speak, and scores had crawled to the 
sides of the brook, or sank helpless under some friendly shade. Never, 
in the annals of modern warfare, had there been a battle so obstinately 
contested under so burning a sun. Hour after hour the two armies 
had struggled in that narrow valley. There, at high noon, the com- 
but had begun ; and there, though it was now sunset, the strife still 
raged. The purple tints of the declining day changed to a cold 
green, and this to sober grey, yet a desultory firing continued in 
spots across the field. The moon, then in her last quarter, began to 
show her faint horn in the western heaven ; and then, but not till 
then, the dropping shots ceased, and silence gradually fell on the 
landscape. But long after this, the dun smoke, which no breath of 
welcome air stirred, hung over the scene of strife, and, growing 
darker as the night deepened, took the appearance of a vast velvet 
pall, flung, by the hand of pitying nature, over the unburied heroes 
that lay around. Completely worn out, the combatants of both 
armies sank to repose, each man making his bed on the ground he 
occupied. The troops of Washington slept on their arms, he him- 
self reclining like the humblest soldier in their midst. 

It was the intention of the American General to renew the battle on 
the following day, but toward midnight, when the moon had gone 
down, the British secretly abandoned their position, and resumed their 
march. So fatigued were the Americans, that the flight of the enemy 



CHARLES LEE. 381 

was not discovered until morning. Washington made no attempt at 
pursuit, satisfied that Sir Henry Clinton would reach the heights of 
Middletown before he could be overtaken. Accordingly, leaving a 
detachment to watch the British rear, the main body of the army was 
moved, by easy marches, to the Hudson. In this battle the enemy 
lost nearly three hundred ; the Americans did not sutler a third as 
much. Never, unless at Princeton, did Washington evince such 
heroism. His presence o-f mind alone saved the day. He checked 
the retreat, drove back the enemy, and remained master of the field ; 
and this, too, with a loss comparatively trifling when compared 
with that 01 the foe. 

The battle of Monmouth, won in this manner, when all the senior 
officers had declared a victory impossible, left a profound impression 
on the public mind of America and Europe. The discipline of our 
troops was no longer despised. Soldiers who, under such disastrous 
circumstances, could be brought to face and drive back a successful 
foe, were declared to be a match for the veterans of Europe ; and 
their General, who had been called the Fabius, was now honored 
with the new title of the Marcellus of modern history. 

This is the proper place to refer to the subsequent disgrace of Lee. 
Though Washington had addressed him warmly in the first surprise 
of their meeting, it is probable that no public notice would have 
been taken of Lee's hasty retreat, but for the conduct of that Gene- 
ral himself. Of a haughty, perhaps of an overbearing disposition, 
he could not brook the indignity which he considered had been put 
upon him ; and almost his first act was to write an improper letter 
to Washington, demanding reparation for the words used toward 
him on the battle-field. The reply of the Commander-in-chief was 
dignified, but severe. He assured his subordinate he should have a 
speedy opportunity to justify himself, and on Lee's asking for a 
court-martial, the latter was arrested. The verdict of that body was, 

First : That he was guilty of disobedience of orders in not attack- 
ing the enemy on the 2Sth of June, agreeably to repeated histruc- 
tions. Second : That he was guilty of misbehavior before the 
enemy on the same day, in making an unnecessary, and, in some 
few instances, a disorderly retreat. Third : That he was guilty of 
disrespect to the Commander-in-chief in two letters. His sentence 
was, to be suspended from his rank for one year. 

We shall not go into a minute examination of the question whether 
this punishment was deserved. Our own opinion is that it was. 
We must, however, be understood as saying that the two first 
charges were not made out clearly by the evidence ; and that it 



382 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



would have been fairer to have convicted Lee only on the last. We 
do not think him guilty in the retreat of anything but an error in 
judgment, arising, perhaps, from want of confidence in his men. 
But he should have kept the Commander-in-chief advised of his 
movements. It is clear that Lee considered himself a superior officer 
to Washington. Hence, he was overbearing, proud, sullen, and 
dogmatical throughout the whole proceedings, both before and after 
the battle. This point of his character was well understood by the 
army, with whom he was unpopular : — it was the real cause of his 
disgrace. He fell a victim, not so much to his error in the retreat, 
as to his haughty and impetuous character ; for, unwilling to brook 
a superior, he assumed an attitude to the Commander-in-chief, 
incompatible alike with decency and discipline. 

The verdict fell, like a thunderbolt, on Lee. He was still con- 
fident, however, that Congress, which body was to reverse or 
approve the decision of the court-martial, would annul the pro- 
ceedings. He was disappointed. If there had, at any time, been a 
chance in his favor, it was destroyed by the intemperance of his 
language in reference to the court and to Washington. The court 
^^' being, by his violent course, forced to take sides, naturally sustained 
the Commander-in-chief. The sentence was approved, after a delay 
of three months : and Lee, in a passion of indignation, retired to his 
estate in Vu'ginia. Here he lived like a hermit. His personal habits 
had always been careless, and they now grew more so. His house 
was a mere shell, with but one room, which by lines of chalk on the 
floor he divided into his kitchen, his study, his chamber, and a place 
for his saddles and harness. His time was divided between his dogs 
and his books. It was while in this retirement that he wrote the 
celebrated " Queries, Political and Military," the object of which 
was to depreciate the character and military genius of Washington : 
these, finding their way into the Maryland Journal, raised such a 
storm of indignation that the printer had to make a public apology 
and surrender the name of the author. Shortly after, on the expira- 
tion of his term of suspension, having heard a rumor that Congress, 
from motives of economy, intended to dispense with his services, he 
penned a characteristic and insolent letter to that body, which pro- 
duced a resolution that " Major-General Charles Lee be informed 
that Congress have no further occasion for his services in the army 
of the United States," In reply, Lee wrote an apology for his late 
epistle, attributing its tone to the fact that his temper was ruffled at 
the time ; wishing Congress success in the cause ; yet expressing his 
intention, by this letter, not to be, to court a restoration to rank, but 



CHARLES LEE. 383 

to excuse his late indecorum and impropriety. There is something 
redeeming in this last public act of Lee ; something of the wounded 
Uon, old and deserted, closing the scene with dignity. 

The bitter malignity which Lee displayed towards Washington, 
at last induced Colonel John Laurens, one of the aids of the Com- 
mander-in-chief, to call him to an account. A duel between Laurens 
and Lee accordingly took place, in which the latter received a ball 
in his side. On a subsequent occasion, having been censured by 
Chief Justice Drayton, of South Carolina, in a charge to a grand jury, 
Lee angrily sent a challenge to the Judge, which the latter, however, 
declined, alleging that such a mode of adjusting the difficulty would 
be inconsistent with his official character. By this want of temper, 
Lee managed to involve himself in other quarrels, and create other 
enemies. Meantime his skeptical opinions on religion, which had 
now become generally known, led a large portion of the community 
to regard him with distrust. In short, a freethinker in every thing, 
and exercising no restraint over his passions, he now lost all his 
former popularity, and Avas falling from the lofty height in which 
he had formerly stood, like some star suddenly shooting downwards, 
and disappearing in the abyss of space. 

The life of an agriculturalist did not suit him, and in 1782 he 
visited Baltimore and Philadelphia, intending to sell his estate and 
afterwards resolve on some plan of life. But death stepped in to 
put a close to his schemes and his vexations. At Philadelphia he 
was seized with a fever at a common inn. In a few days, notwith- 
standing the skill of his physicians, the unfortunate man finished his 
mortal career. He died on the 2nd of October, 1782, in the fifty-first 
year of his age. His closing scene has a grandeur in it worthy of 
his earlier fame. He lay motionless for a long time, muttering inco- 
herently in the delirium of fever ; but, as death drew on, he suddenly 
started up in bed, his eye kindled, he waved his hand, and shouting, 
" Stand by me, my brave grenadiers," fell back and expired. He 
was interred in the burial ground contiguous to Christ Church, where, 
long since, the particular spot of his sepulture has been lost to tra- 
dition. 

In dismissing the character of Lee we can add little, which we did 
not say in the beginning. He had many excellent qualities, and 
much talent ; but in temper he was reckless, bitter, and unforgiving. 
On the one hand, chivalrous, generous, constant in his friendships : 
on the other, imprudent, conceited, relentless in his hate. He never 
forgave Washington even the negative part which that great and 
good man took in the affair of Monmouth. In public and private he 



384 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



vehemently declaimed against the Conmiander-in-chief, to whom he 
attributed those misfortunes which, in reality, were the fruit of his 
own passions. With many noble qualities, and every advantage in 
the m9rning of life, bis career set, at last, in tempest and gloom ! 





BENJAMIN LINCOLN. 




ENJAMIN LINCOLN, a Major-General in 
the continental line, was an officer of re- 
spectable, though not of superior abilities. 
He had no genius, but some talent ; was 
more prudent than enterprising : and be- 
longed to the old formal school in the art of 
war. Lincoln was one of the unfortunate 
Generals of the Revolution. In no case 
where he commanded in person did victory attend our arms. Such 
a continuation of disasters could not have been accidental, but must 
have arisen, at least in part, from some peculiarity in himself. It 
is evident that Lincoln was a leader not altogether fitted for the 
times. He had neither the irresistible vehemence of Wayne, nor the 
comprehensive intellect of Washington. Yet he was not a bad Gene- 
ral. His conduct was unexceptionable, judged by merely critical 
rules. No one can fairly censure him for the loss of Charleston, for 
the repulse at Savannah, or for the failure of the attack on Stono 



49 



38 1 



386 BENJAMIN LINCOLN. 

Ferry. But the reflection will nevertheless arise that a commander 
of greater genius might have effected more. 

Lincoln was born at Hingham, Massachusetts, on the 23rd of 
January, 1733. Until about the period of the Revolution he followed 
the vocation of a farmer. In 1775,however, he was elected a Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel of the militia, and subsequently chosen a member of the 
Provincial Congress. In 1776, he was commissioned as a Brigadier 
by his native state, principally on account of his extensive influence. 
He soon displayed an aptitude for the profession of arms and was 
of great assistance in preparing the militia for active service. The 
rank of Major-General having been bestowed on him by Massachu- 
setts, he commanded a body of militia that marched to join the main 
army at New York. Washington speedily discerned that the abilities 
of Lincoln were superior to those of the great mass around him, and, 
anxious to secure his services permanently, recommended him 
warmly to Congress. In consequence he was appointed a Major- 
General in the continental line in February, 1777. For several 
months subsequent to this elevation, he continued with the main army 
under Washington, earning a solid reputation for courage, prudence 
and accuracy of judgment. 

In July, 1777, he was detached to join the army under Gates. 
One reason for his selection was his popularity in the New England 
states, which it was hoped might be made available in obtaining re- 
cruits. He first repaired to Manchester, in Vermont, where a depot 
had been formed for the militia. Here as the difterent companies came 
in, Lincoln prepared and forwarded them to the main body. While 
at this post, on the 13th of September, he detached Colonel Brown, 
with five hundred men, to Lake George, where that oflicer conquered 
two hundred batteaux, and nearly three hundred soldiers of the ene- 
my, besides liberating one hundred American prisoners. This vigor- 
ous blow, struck on the line of communications of Burgoyne, was a 
serious evil to that General. From the hour that he heard of it he 
despaired of retreat. Lincoln, after this success, despatched two 
other parties against Skeensborough and Mount Independence, and 
then proceeded to join Gates at head-quarters, where affairs were 
rapidly drawing to a chmax. During the terrible battle of the 7th 
of October he commanded within the lines, and consequently escaped 
unhurt, but on the succeeding day, while reconnoitering in front of 
the army, he came unexpectedly upon a detachment of the enemy. 
A volley being discharged at him and his Aids, Lincoln was seriously 
wounded in the leg, and, for a time it wasfeared that the limb would 
have to be amputated. He was removed at first to Albany, and 



BENJAMIN LINCOLN. 387 

several months subsequently to his residence at Hingham. Nor 
was it until August, 1778, that he was sufficiently recovered to repair 
to the camp of Washington. Meantime, fiowever, large portions of 
the bone had come away from his limb. For several years the leg 
continued in an ulcerated condition, and being shortened by the 
loss of bone, rendered him lame for life. 

The threatened invasion of the south had induced that section of 
the confederacy to apply to Congress for a General to command them 
in the Carolinas, and at the suggestion of the leading men there, Lin- 
coln v/as elected to the new post. He arrived at Charleston in De- 
cember, 1778, and found everything in confusion. In the chaos that 
reigned in all the various departments, in the want of supplies, the 
disorganization of the troops, the apathy of the inhabitants, Lincoln 
found ample exercise for energy, application, and an economic use 
of means. He inspired confidence by his bold front, gave coherence 
to the raw levies, infused a miUtary spirit among all classes, and this 
so effectually that, in a few months, despondency gave place to ex- 
hilaration, and instead of being content merely to defend their homes 
the Carolinians aspired to carry the war into the heart of tire ene- 
my's positions in Georgia. Lincoln accordingly marched upon that 
province and was engaged successfully against the enemy in the 
upper part of the state, when Prevost, the British General, dexte- 
rously eluding Moultrie, who had been left to watch him, advanced 
into South Carolina, and made a bold dash at Charleston. This 
hazardous attempt had nearly caused the fall of that place. Fortu- 
nately, however, Lincoln, apprized of his enemy's movements, by a 
rapid countermarch, arrived before the capital in time to raise the 
siege. The battle of Stono Ferry followed ; but, though the Ameri- 
cans displayed the utmost gallantry, Prevost succeeded in effecthig 
his escape. 

In September, 1779, Lincoln commanded the continental troops at 
the siege of Savannali : and wlien tlie fatal assault was suggested by 
d'Estaing, remonstrated, though to no purpose against it. The 
French Admiral refusing to remain longer, Lincoln reluctantly con- 
sented to the attack. The night before the storm, a deserter went 
over to the enemy and gave notice of the intended movement, so that 
Prevost was fully prepared. The principal assault was directed 
against the right fiank of the works. On this side, a swampy hol- 
low, affording cover, led up to within fifty yards of the fortifications. 
The allied troops were marshalled before day, the French in three 
columns, the Americans in one. D'Estaing and Lincoln in person 
marched at the head of their respective forces. The darkness was 



388 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

intense — scarcely a star shining on high. The wind wailing through 
the pines, seemed to forbode the approaching disaster. The army 
was to move in one long column until it approached the edge of tlie 
wood, when it was to break off into the different columns as arranged, 
but in consequence of the thick gloom the troops lost their way and 
became involved in the swamp, so that some disorder ensued. At 
last, however, the ranks were formed anew, and the first column, 
headed by d'Estaing, dashed forward to the walls. The day was 
just brep.ifing. As the assailants emerged from the gray fog of the 
hollow way, the defenders who had been on the look out all night, 
detected the flash of their muskets, and opened a raking fire of artil- 
lery that, at the first discharge, decimated the column. The French 
staggered an instant, but soon rallying, pressed on. Again that tor- 
rent of balls and grape s^i'ept past them, carrying with it many a 
brave soldier, and shaking the column to its centre. Yet still the 
storming party, breasting the current, endeavored to force their way 
into the works. At every step, however, the missiles of death, like 
thick falling snow flakes, drove wilder and faster into their faces. 
When they reached the abatis the carnage became frightful. The 
ground soon became strewn with the slain. The hardy veteran 
who had passed all his life in camps, and the young recruit 
fresh from the banks of the Loire fell together side by side ; while 
the officer, as he mounted the fallen body of some soldier, to cheer 
on his men, tumbled dead across it. Speedily, a confused heap 
blocked up the approach to the ramparts, the blood that oozed in a 
thick stream from the mass of dead, flowing lazily oft' into the 
morass. The first column broke and fled, but the second now poured 
on to the assault. This, in turn, recoiled, when the third came dash- 
ing up. D'Estaing, gallantly leading his men, at last fell wounded, 
and had to be carried from the field. The troops, however, con- 
tinued the attack, though, amid the smoke and fog, nothing could be 
seen of their progress, except now and then a banner rising and fall- 
ing above the clouds of vapor, like a sail tossing on the distant surge ! 
The attack of the Americans was, for a while, more successful. 
Headed by Colonel Laurens, the gallant band pressed forward, in face 
of a withering fire, on the Spring Hill redoubt, and, after a tremen- 
dous struggle, a part succeeded in getting into the ditch. Serjeant 
Jasper, in charge of one of the colors of the second regiment, was 
among the foremost in the assault, and while the precious flag 
waved aloft, the enthusiasm of the men, never, for an instant, 
flagged ; but, pressing forward, they carried everything before them. 
Across the plain ; into the ditch ; and up over the walls the living 



BENJAMIN LINCOLN. 389 

tide poured on. As he reached the ditch, Jasper received a second 
and a mortal wound, and feehng the hand of death upon him, turned 
feebly to Lieutenant Bush and dehvered the holy charge into his 
hands. The new standard-bearer had scarcely received the deposit, 
when a grape shot struck him, and he tumbled headlong into the 
ditch ; but, with a dying effort, he grasped the flag, and fell with 
his body across it, so that, after the battle, it was picked up soaked 
with his blood. The other standard of the regiment, however, still 
waved aloft, its familiar folds, though riddled by shot, fluttering in 
the van. For a moment, as its bearer leaped into the ditch, it 
appeared to sink under the tide of battle ; but soon it rose again, 
and, the next instant was seen waving proudly on the enemy's ram- 
parts. Inspired by the sight, the column, which had wavered under 
the terrible fire, rushed forward, and endeavored to scale the walls. 
A few succeeded in the attempt. But the greater number, mowed 
down by the incessant discharges, sank at the foot of the ramparts. 
In vain the more athletic clambered up the parapet. Tempests of fire 
and shot swept the walls and hurled them back into the ditch, bleed- 
ing and dying. A i'ew, for a second or two, gained a foothold in 
the works. But the British, finding others did not arrive to support 
them, made a sudden charge along the parapet, and pushed the suc- 
cessful assailants down. At this crisis, Serjeant Macdonald, seeing 
that retreat was inevitable, and unwilling to leave the standard as a 
trophy to the foe, seized it, and, with a shout of defiance, sprung 
back into the ditch. The enemy, following up his advantage, swept 
the ditch as well as the ramparts, and, excited to a phrenzy of 
enthusiasm, pursued the retiring foe through the abatis, and even 
to the open plain. The sally was as rapid as a flash of lightning, 
and smote the assailants with a like terrible effect. The whole four 
columns simultaneously recoiled from those blood-red ramparts. 
The fight had lasted an hour. A thousand brave men had fallen in 
that short space, and now lay far and near darkening the plain, here 
scattered about along the line of retreat, there piled in heaps where 
the battle had raged fiercest. Struck with horror at the spectacle, 
and satisfied that a second assault would be equally abortive, the 
allied commanders, after that last terrible repulse, drew off their 
forces, and beat a parley to bury the dead. Nine days subsequently 
the siege was abandoned. 

Thus ended the unfortunate investment of Savannah. Nor was 
the next affair, in which Lincoln was engaged, more triumphant : we 
allude, of course, to the fall of Charleston, the garrison of which he 
commanded. By the loss of that capital, and the army collected 

HH* 



390 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

there, the whole south was placed at the mercy of the foe ; and in 
consequence, a large number of his fellow citizens severely censured 
Lincoln for attempting to defend the town. But the three months 
delay gained by the siege was no unimportant advantage. It is 
easy, at this day, to state that errors were committed ; but it is diffi- 
cult to say how they could have been corrected at the time. The 
Carolinians placed an undue importance on their capital, insisting 
that it should be defended to the last extremity ; and, as Lincoln had 
been prouiised reinforcements from the north, he considered himself 
imperatively bound to yield to their wishes. What General, in the 
same circumstances, would have done otherwise ? For the last fort- 
night of the siege he was on the lines night and day, without once 
undressing. In consequence of the capitulation, Lincoln became a 
prisoner of war, but in 1781 he was exchanged, and joined the main 
anny in time to witness the surrender of Yorktown. On that auspi- 
cious occasion Washington delegated to him the task of receiving 
the sword of CornwaUis, an honor delicately proffered by the 
Commander-in-chief, in order to heal the lacerated feelings of Lin- 
coln. For, throughout ail the adverse fortunes of the latter, Wash- 
ington continued his advocate and friend, insisting that, at the worst, 
the argument in favor of defence at Charleston, had been as potent 
as that against it ! 

In October, 1781, Lincoln was chosen Secretary of War, in which 
office he remained two years. He now retired to his farm. But 
in 1786, when the insurrection of Shay occurred, Lincoln was 
appointed to command the militia called out to sustain the laws. 
Through his prudence and energy the rebellion was extinguished 
with scarcely any bloodshed. In 1787, he was elected Lieutenant- 
Governor of Massachusetts. In 1789, he was appointed by the 
President collector for the port of Boston. On various occasions he 
acted as a Commissioner to make treaties with the Indians. He 
lived until the 10th of May, 1810, when he died after a short illness. 




ANTHONY WAYNE. 




NTHONY WAYNE, a 

Major-General in the 
American army, was the 
Ney of the war of in- 
dependence. A braver 
man, perhaps, never 
lived. His name, in- 
deed, has passed into a 
synonyme for all that 
is headlong and unap- 
proachable in courage. 
Men of Wayne's class 
have been, in all ages, the favorites of the masses. The refinements 
of a great strategic genius are above the comprehension of common 
minds, butmny individual, however ordinary in intellect, can appre- 
ciate an indomitable spirit. What Decatur was to the navy, that 
Wayne was to the army ! There was nothing he feared to attempt. 
He would do not only what others dared, but more. His active and 

391 



392 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

irrepressible energy hurried liim forward on a battle-field to make 
attempts which often succeeded from their A^ery audacity. An 
instance of this occurred at Jamestown Ferry, where he saved his 
corps from annihilation by charging a force, five times in number, 
with the bayonet. He stood alone among the American Generals 
in the terrible power which he infused into a column of attack. Had 
he been one of Napoleon's Marshals he would have rivalled Mac- 
donald at Wagram, or Ney at Waterloo. He swooped across a 
battle-field like an eagle striking at its prey. If he had lived in the 
old heroic age he would have gone, like Hercules, to drag Cerberus 
from the gates of hell. 

Wayne was born in Chester county, Pennsylvania, on the 1st of 
January, 1745. Even while a boy he evinced military spirit. His 
preceptor writing to the father, in reference to Wayne, said, " One 
thing I am certain of, he will never make a scholar. He may make 
a soldier : he has already distracted the brains of two-thirds of the 
boys, under my direction, by rehearsals of battles and sieges." The 
old schoolmaster, however, was not exactly correct in his estimate: 
lor Wayne, having been censured by his father, in consequence of 
this epistle, applied himself from that hour laboriously to his books, 
and was finally dismissed with a certificate that, " having acquired 
all that his master could teach, he merited the means of higher and 
more general instruction." Wayne accordingly was sent to the 
Philadelphia Academy. Here he remained until his eighteenth 
year, when he returned to Chester county, and assumed the profes- 
sion of a surveyor. A company of merchants having associated to 
purchase lands in Nova Scotia, Wayne was chosen as surveyor, on 
the recommendation of Dr. Franklin, over numerous competitors. 
He was at this period but twenty -one years of age, and the choice 
proves the reputation for talent which he had even then obtained. 
In 1767 he married and settled permanently in his native county. 
Here he served as a member of the Legislature and of the Committee 
of Public Safety. As early as 1764, convinced that war was inevi- 
table, he began to apply himself to the study of military science. 
He raised a corps of volunteers, and devoted his leisure to drilling 
them, with such success, as one of his biographers asserts, that in 
six weeks they had " more the appearance of a veteran than a 
militia regiment." 

In January, 1776, he was appointed by Congress Colonel of one 
of the regiments to be raised in Pennsylvania. He soon filled his 
ranks, and early in the spring, was ordered to Canada. In the ex- 
pedition against Three Rivers he signalized himself by his daring 



ANTHONY WAYNE. 393 

bravery, and also during the subsequent retreat, so that he began 
already to be spoken of as one certahi to rise to eminence. He was 
wounded in this campaign. In February, 1777, he was appointed a 
Brigadier. He joined Washington in May of that year, and rendered 
such important aid in driving the enemy from New Jersey, that the 
Commander-in-chief spoke of him with especial approbation, in his 
official report to Congress in June, 1777. When it became evident 
that Howe was about to attack Philadelphia, Wayne was sent to his 
native county to raise the militia there. In the action of the Bran- 
dywine, Wayne commanded at Chad's Ford. On this occasion his 
troops particularly distinguished themselves. The Pennsylvania line 
had already become celebrated for its high state of discipline, and to 
this was now added a reputation for unshrinking courage in the field 
— characteristics which it never lost throughout the war, and for 
which it was mainly indebted to the example and instructions of 
Wayne. On the 11th of Septehiber, five days after the battle of 
Brandywine, the American army had completely recovered from its 
defeat ; and the van, led by General Wayne, had actually come into 
contact with the enemy, with the intention of giving battle, when a 
storm arose and separated the combatants. 

Washington, discovering that Howe still lingered in his vicinity, 
despatched Wayne to watch the enemy's movements, and when joined 
by Smallwood and the Maryland militia, to cut otf the baggage and 
hospital train. Wayne accordingly hovered on the enemy's rear, but 
not being joined by Smallwood, was able to eftect nothing. Mean- 
time the British were meditating an attack on his position. Wayne 
received a partial notice of the intended surprise about an hour be- 
fore it occurred, but the information was not sufficiently reliable to 
induce him to shift his position. He held his men in readiness, how- 
ever. At eleven o'clock, and while it was raining, the enemy sud- 
denly appeared in sight. Wayne immediately ordered a retreat. 
The artillery and larger portion of his force, he directed to move 
off" under Colonel Hampton; while he remained in person, with the first 
Pennsylvania regiment, the light infantry and the horse, to cover the 
rear. Through negligence or misapprehension, Hampton did not put 
his troops into motion until three distinct orders had been sent to do 
so ; and in consequence about one hundred and fifty of his men 
were cut off" and bayonetted by the British. The real offender, 
Hampton, in order to exonerate himself, charged the misfortune to 
the negligence of Wayne. A court-martial accordingly was sum- 
moned, the verdict of which not only exculpated the General, but 
declared he had done everything that could be expected of an active, 
50 



394 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

brave and vigilant oflicer. This affair has been misrepresented in 
popular history as a surprise, followed by an indiscriminate slaughter, 
and is generally known as the Paoli massacre. 

At the battle of Germantown, Wayne led one division of the right 
wing ; and in the retreat saved the army, by throwing up a battery 
at White Marsh Church. During the winter at Valley Forge, Wayne 
was despatched to New Jersey, which he foraged from Bordentown 
to Salem, and succeeded in bringing very important supplies to camp, 
though not until after many sharp skirmishes with the enemy. In 
the obstinate contest at Monmouth he signalized himself by the most 
daring courage, and was one of the few who sided with Washington 
in recommending a battle. For his conduct on this day he was 
particularly commended to Congress by the Commander-in-chief 
Nothing of importance oc( irred in Wayne's career after this, until 
the storming of Stony Point, which took place on the 15th of July, 
1779. This is the most brilliant afiair of the war of independence. 
Stony Point is a precipitous hill, on the western shore of the Hudson, 
completely commanding King's Ferry, the then ordinary communi- 
cation between the middle and eastern states. It had been seized 
by the British, who declared their intention to make it impregnable. 
Nature had already done much to assist their design. The hill was 
washed by the river on two of its sides, and covered on the third by 
a marsh, overflowed except at low tide. The enemy encircled this 
hill with a double row of abatis, and erected on its summit a strong 
breastwork bristling with artiUery. Six hundred veteran troops 
were assigned as the garrison of the place. Washington sent for 
Wayne and proposed that the latter should assault it, at the head of 
a picked corps. Though the British had been foiled at Bunker Hill, 
under exactly similar circumstances, Wayne did not hesitate an 
instant in expressing his willingness for the task, or his confidence in 
success. Tradition has even placed in his mouth this characteristic 
reply to the Commander-in-chief's suggestion, "General, if you will 
only plan it, I will storm li-ll." 

Wayne began his march from Sandy Beach, about fourteen miles 
distant from Stony Point, and by eight o'clock in the evening arrived 
within a mile and a half of his destination. He now made his final 
arrangements, and at half after eleven was once more in motion. 
The night had no moon, but the stars were out, and the deep 
shadows of the hill lay in huge black masses on the water, as the 
little army arrived at the morass. Across the Hudson, Verplank's 
Point was seen, rising huge and dark from the river shore. The 
time appointed for the attack had been midnight, but the uneven 



ANTHONY WAYNE. 395 

nature of the ground had protracted the march, and it was now 
twenty minutes past that hour. The assault was arranged to be in 
two cokimns, one of the right, and the other of the left, which, 
entering the fort at opposite corners, were to meet in its centre. The 
regiments of Febiger and Meigs, with Hull's detachment, formed the 
column of the right : that of the left was composed of the regiment 
of Butler, and Murphy's detachment. They were all troops in whom 
Wayne had confidence, mostly of the Pennsylvania line, brave to a 
man ! Each column was preceded by an advanced party. That 
on the right, of one hundred and fifty men, was led by Lieutenant- 
Colonel Herny; that on the left, of one hundred, was led by Major 
Stewart. Two forlorn hopes of twenty men each, went first, one 
commanded by Lieutenant Gibbon of the sixth, and the other by 
Lieutenant Knox of the ninth Pennsylvania regiments. The forlorn 
hopes marched with axes to cut away the abatis : behind them went 
the two advanced parties, with unloaded muskets ; then came the 
main body of each column. Wayne placed himself -at the head of 
Febiger's regiment. "The first man that fires his piece shall be cut 
down," was his short address, "trust to the bayonet. March on!" 
The troops had nearly crossed the morass before the enemy took 
the alarm. But when the head of the column approached firm land, 
the drum within the works was heard beating to arms, and instan- 
taneously the sounds of hurried feet and other signs of commotion 
came, borne by the night breeze, from the summit of the hill. The 
forlorn hope sprang forward, knowing that not a second was to be 
lost, and began to cut away the abatis, the column behind pressing 
densely on. The first blow of the axe had scarcely struck the pali- 
sades when the rampart streamed, right and left, with fire, and the 
next moment, a torrent of grape-shot and musket-balls tore furiously 
down the hill. Seventeen of the twenty members of the forlorn hope 
led by Lieutenant Gibbons fell. But the advanced party immedi- 
ately rushed on to fill their places : the palisades were thrown 
down ; and the column, like a solid wedge, advanced steadily up 
the ascent. The fire of the enemy continued without cessation, 
showers of grape and musketry raining down on the assailants. 
But, stooping their heads to the storm, the men, with fixed bayo- 
nets, and in perfect silence, rapidly pushed on. The hill shook 
beneath the concussions, as if an earthquake was passing. Shells 
hissed through the air, like fiery serpents, and plunging into the 
ranks of the Americans, tore them asunder with terrific explosions. 
Hurricanes of grape swept the lines, levelling whole lanes of soldiers. 
As Wayne marched in the van, a musket ball striking him in the 



396 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



forehead, prostrated him, but staggering to his feet, the wounded 
hero cried, " March on, carry me into the fort, I will die at- the head 
of the column." Seizing their leader, the men, at these words. 




STORIIIXG (IF SroNY POIXT 



rushed headlong forward. The incessant rattle of musketry, the 
roar of artillery, the crashing of grape-shot, and the lurid light flung 
over the scene by the explosions of shells and by the streams of fire 
pouring from the fort were enough to appal the stoutest hearts ; but 
the Americans, nothing daunted, pressed steadily forward, advancing 
at quick -step up the hill, and sweeping like a living wave over the 
ramparts of the enemy. In vain the British maintained their de- 
structive and incessant fire : in vain, when the assailants reached 
the fort, the defenders met them, breast to breast : silent, steady, 
with unbroken front, the Americans moved on, pushing the enemy, 
by main force, from his walls, and bearing down every thing before 
their torrent of glittering steel. The two columns were not a minute 
apart in entering their respective sides of the fort, and met, victo- 
riously, in the middle of the enclosure. Here, for the first time, the 
silence of the Americans was broken ; for, finding the place their 
own, loud and continued shouts rent the air. The enemy was now 
supplicating for quarters on all sides. And though the assailants 



ANTHONY WAYNE. 397 

•wouid have been justified, by the laws of war, in pulting the gar- 
rison to death, every man was spared who asked for (|uarler, nor 
was a solitary individual injured after the surrender. The wliole 
loss of the Americans was about one hundred. The British suffered 
in killed, wounded and captured, six hundred and seven. 

For this gallant action, Wayne received a gold medal from Con- 
gress. Washington wrote, "He improved on the plan recommended 
by me, and executed it in a manner that does honor to his judgment 
and bravery." Lee, who had lately had a difference witli Wayne, 
forgot it in the admiration of this dashing enterprise, and in a com- 
plimentary letter, said, " I do most sincerely declare, that your assault 
of Stony Point is not only the most brilliant, in my opinion, through- 
out the whole course of the war on either side, but that it is the most 
brilliant I am acquainted with in history; the assault of Schweidnitz 
by Marshal Laudon, I think inferior to it." The credit of tliis splen- 
did action is chiefly due to the Pennsylvania line, from which most 
of the storming party were drawn. No veteran European troops 
could have behaved with more resolution. It is not known that a 
single trigger was pulled, on the part of the Americans, during the 
assault. The thanks of Congress, and of the Pennsylvania Legislature 
were imanimously bestowed on the officers and soldiers engaged in 
this gallant exploit. The wound of Wayne, on examination, proved 
slight ; and he was able, an hour after the victory, to write the fol- 
lowing characteristic letter to Washington. 

" Dear General : — 

"The fort and garrison, with Colonel Johnston, are ours. Our 
officers and men behaved like men who are determined to be free. 
" Yours, most sincerely, 

"Anthony Wayne." 

In July, 1780, Wayne was employed in beating up the refugees of 
East Jersey, and on the 20th of that month made a gallant, though 
not altogether successful attack on their depot at Bergen Neck. The 
next event in the life of Wayne was the revolt of the Pennsylvania 
line, and his agency in restoring order. The cause of this mutiny was 
entirely owing to the misery of the troops. Had common justice been 
awarded these brave men they never would have risen against Con- 
gress ; but when to a neglect of pay, and a want of provisions, was 
added a fraudulent attempt to increase the term for which they had 
enlisted, the soldiers naturally rebelled. A few unquestionably took 
advantage of the mutiny to leave a service of which they were tired-, 

II 



398 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

but that the majority of the Pennsylvania hne deserves censure,! 
no one, who understands the facts, is now prepared to say. The 
mutineers refused all the offers of Sir Henry Clinton, returning the 




GENERAL WAYNE ATTEMPTING TO QUELL THE MITINY OF THE TROOPS. 



memorable answer that "their patience, but not their patriotism, 
was exhausted." Justice has never been done the common soldiers 
of the Revolution. Those humble, but brave men, endured every 
extremity of hunger, cold, and privation, and, at last, after years of 
service, were dismissed unrewarded, to beg their way home. No 
honors alleviated their misery, no prospect of plenty cheered their 
despondency. They were thrown aside like useless lumber that is 
no longer required. They saw the very persons whose liberties they 
fought to win active in doing injustice to them, and others making 
fortunes out of their necessities. What wonder they revolted ! Few 
of the New England troops enlisted for such long terms as those of 
the middle states, and consequently were spared the protracted suf- 
ferings endured year after year, by the Pennsylvania line. We 



ANTHONY WAYNE. 399 

may deplore this munity, on account of its pernicious example, but 
certainly never had mutineers such provocation ! 

On the 7th of June, 1781, Wayne joined La Fayette in Virginia, 
with the remains of the Pennsylvania Line, now reduced to eleven 
hundred rank and file. On hearing of the junction of the two 
Generals, Lord Cornwallis retreated to Williamsburg, and on the 
5th of July, still retiring, prepared to cross the river James at 
Jamestown Ferry. La Fayette, believing that most of the British 
force had crossed, despatched Wayne with seven hundred men to 
attack the remainder. But, after driving in the pickets, Wayne 
found himself in the presence of the whole British army, instead of 
the rear guard. The enemy was but a hundred paces distant, and 
perceiving his small force, extended his wings to enclose Wayne. 
This was just such a crisis as fully awoke the genius of the Ameri- 
can General. He saw that to retreat then would be ruin, and 
accordingly he ordered his men to charge with the bayonet. The 
little band, obedient to his word, dashed forward. The British, so 
lately on the point of advancing, fell back, confident, from Wayne's 
bold front, that he was supported by a large force near at hand. By 
this stroke the " British were checked, and Wayne enabled to retire 
without being pursued. No incident of the war is more characteris- 
tic of the impetuous yet sagacious genius of Wayne than this aftair. 
Cornwallis continued his retreat to Yorktown, where, three months 
later, he surrendered to Washington. Wayne was present at that 
siege, and, with his gallant troops, was of great service. 

After the fall of the British army, Wayne was despatched to 
Georgia, his instructions being to bring that state under the authority 
of the confederation. His command consisted of about one hundred 
dragoons, three hundred continentals, and three hundred militia : yet 
with this paltry force, in little more than a month, he chased the 
British from the interior of the state and defeated the Creeks, their 
allies. On the 20th of May, 1782, he surprised a portion of the 
Indians at Ogechee, and repulsed them with great slaughter: and 
three days afterwards he met the remainder and almost exterminated 
them. On the 12th of July, 1782, the British evacuated Georgia. 
Wayne was now ordered to South Carolina by General Greene, 
Commander-in-chief of the southern department, who complimented 
ium highly on his address, sagacity, prudence and energy during the 
late campaign. After this, no especial occasion arose for the services 
of Wayne, until the evacuation of Charleston, but on that eventful 
day he commanded the advanced guard of the Americans, to whom 



400 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLITION. 



was entrusted the taking possession of the town. Wayne's troops 
entered the city as soon as the British began their march to the 
water-side, and followed up the enemy so closely that the royal 
soldiers frequently turned and said "You press too fast upon us." 
On this, Wayne would check his troops, but, m a few minutes, in 
their exhilaration, they would again be at the heels of the foe: and 
thus, with martial music playing triumphant airs, and the wmdows 
crowded with ladies waving handkerchiefs in welcome, the long 
banished Americans re-entered Charleston! 

In July, 1783, Wayne returned to civil life, settling in his native 
state. In 17S4 he was elected a member of the Pennsylvania Le- 
gislature, and served for two sessions. In 1792, after the defeat of 
St. Clair, Wayne was appointed, by Washington, to the command 
of the United States army. This selection, under the circumstances, 
proves the high estimate formed by the President, of Wayne's abili- 
ties. On the 1 St of September, 1793, having vamly tried to negotiate 




GENERAL WAYXES DEFEAT OF THE INDIANS ON THE MIAMI 



with the savages, Wayne formed a camp near Cincinnati, and devoted 
his time, for the next month, to drilling his troops. He then removed 



ANTHONY WAYNE. 401 

to a location he had selected on one of the branches of the big Miami 
River, and here established his winter quarters. About the middle 
of the ensuing year, having been reinforced by a body of mounted 
volunteers from Kentucky, he marched to attack the enemy, who 
had encamped near the Rapids, in the vicinity of a British fort, 
erected in defiance of the treaty. The van of his army consisting 
of mounted volunteers, was first attacked, and with such im- 
petuosity as to be driven in. Wayne immediately formed his 
army in two lines. He soon found that the Indians were in full 
force in front, concealed in high grass and woods, and were 
endeavoring to turn his left flank. Accordingly he ordered the 
first line to advance with the bayonet, and rouse the savages 
from their coverts ; at the same time he directed the mounted vol- 
unteers and the legion of cavalry to turn the right and left flanks 
of the enemy respectively. The front line advanced with such 
rapidity that neither the second line which had been commanded to 
support it, nor the cavalry on the flanks, could come up in time : the 
Indians being started from their hiding places by the prick of the 
bayonet, and driven in terror and dismay, for two miles in less than 
an hour, by half their number. The savages numbered about two 
thousand in this battle. After the victory, the commander of the 
British fort having sent notice to Wayne, not to approach within 
reach of the fire of his fort, the American General, with becoming 
spirit, burnt every thing of value within sight of the works, and up 
to the very muzzles of the guns. This signal defeat of the Indians 
led to the treaty of Greenville, by which large accessions of territory 
were gained for the United States. It struck such terror into the 
savages that, for nearly twenty years, there was no attempt on their 
part to renew the struggle. Nor was this all: for the British, who 
had fomented these disturbances, finding that their machinations 
would be of no avail, soon' after consented to the Jay treaty, and 
abandoned the posts they had illegally seized. Through the whole 
of this Indian campaign, as through that in Georgia, Wayne evinced 
equal prudence, sagacity and boldness. 

Wayne died at Presque Isle, from an attack of the gout, on the 
15th of December, 1796, He was on his return from the west, 
whither he had gone to treat with the north-western Indians, and 
receive the surrender of the British military posts. In 1809 his 
remains were transported to the burial ground of Radnor Church, 
in Chester county, Pennsylvania. A monument, erected by the 
Pennsylvania State Society of Cincinnati, marks the present spot of 
his interment. 

51 II* 



402 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



The soubriquet of "Mad Anthony," by which Wayne was popu- 
larly known in the Revohition, was first appUed to him by a witless 
fellow about the camp, and was immediately adopted by the soldiers 
as expressive of his daring and headlong courage. 



'A^JJYi^l 








COUNT PULASKI 



^% OUNT Casimir Pulaski, 
General of Cavalry in the 
American army, was born 
m Poland, in the year 
17i7. By birth and alli- 
ance he was connected 
with some of the noblest 
families of that kingdom, 
especially with the prince- 
ly house of Czartorinsky. 
-N He came of age at a criti- 
-^i cal period. The election 
r. of Poniatowsky, produced 
J ^ as it had been by the 
l7 armed interference of Rus- 
sia, instigated a portion of 
the nation to revolt, and, 
at the head of the insur- 
gems stood the father of Pulaski. The sons of 'his patnot then 
Lrcely arrived at manhood, embarked in the cause with enthusiasm, 




'404 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

and, in the civil war that followed, between the confederates and the 
monarch, signally distinguished themselves. Casimir Pulaski soon 
became renowned for his exploits as a cavalry officer. One by one 
his relatives fell in the struggle, yet still he maintained the contest. 
At last, an abortive attempt to carry off the person of the king, 
having been represented as an effort at his assasination, the odium 
became so universal that all who participated in it, directly or indi- 
rectly, thought it advisable to leave the kingdom. Among these was 
Casimir Pulaski, who had been in the secrets of the conspirators, 
though without any active share in the attempt. Before he bade 
adieu to his native soil forever he published a manifesto, in which 
he declared his innocence of the crime imputed to him. His de- 
parture was hastened by the arrival of Austrian and Prussian troops, 
which now began to pour into Poland, ostensibly to protect her 
monarch, but in reality to prepare for her partition. 

LThus, at the age of twenty-five, Pulaski found himself an exile, 
homeless, fatherless, without brothers, without friends. But his 
name had gone before him. The memory of his miraculous escapes 
from the Russians, of the gallantry with which he had so often de- 
feated them, of his generosity, patriotism and nobleness of heart was 
r everywhere vivid in Europe ; and when, towards the close of the 
year 1776, he suddenly appeared in Paris, after almost incredible 
perils and adventures in Turkey, he became the centre of curiosity 
^^ to that mercuial capital. But his intention was not to remain in 
y France. The American Revolution was beginning to attract the 
\ eyes of Europe, and Pulaski resolved to fight the battles of freedom 
/ on a distant shore. The Court of Versailles secretly encouraged his 
intention ; and Franklin gave him letters of introduction to Congress. 
In the summer of 1777 he arrived at Philadelphia, and immediately 
joined the army as a volunteer. Hitherto there had been no cavalry 
force of consequence belonging to the Americans. There were four 
regiments of dragoons, it is true ; but they never acted together, and, 
on Pulaski's arrival, the cavalry was under no higher officer than a 
Colonel. Washington had long felt the want of a competent force 
of this description, properly commanded ; and now he hastened to 
solicit for Pulaski the post of General of the Cavalry, and the rank of 
Brigadier. Before a decision was made, the battle of Brandywine 
occurred. Pulaski was a volunteer, and remained inactive until the 
close of the action ; but then, finding the enemy about to cut ofi' the 
baggage, he asked the loan of Washington's body-guard, and with 
these thirty horsemen, and a few scattered dragoons he picked up, 
charged the British several times in so brilliant a manner as to drive 



COUNT PULASKI. 405 

them back and secure the retreat. Four days afterwards he received 
the command of the cavalry, with the rank of a Brigadier. 

Pulaski held this post for only five months, at the end of which 
period he resigned. The command had not answered liis expecta- 
tions. He was one of those fiery spirits who must be constantly in 
action. To carry out his daring plans, he required a force always 
ready and at his service. But the nature of the American warfare 
required that the cavalry should be separated into small parties, and 
at the disposal of the different divisions of the army. Pulaski saw 
that he would never be able, while at the head of such a force, to 
fulfil the expectations formed of him. Accordingly he solicited per- 
mission to raise an independent corps, which was to consist of 
cavalry armed with lances and of foot equipped as light infantry. 
The renown of his name soon drew recruits to his standard. In a 
few months he had enlisted three hundred and thirty, which was 
sixty more than at first proposed. The corps was called Pulaski's "**) 
Legion, and was of vast service in the subsequent campaigns. It 
was the model on which Lee's and Armand's legions were after- 
wards formed. Its gallantry soon passed into a proverb. Whenever 
the towering hussar cap of Pulaski was seen in a fight, men knew / 
that deeds of heroic valor were at hand. 

His career, however, was soon cut short. In February, 1779, he 
was sent to the south with his legion. He was approaching Charles- 
ton when he heard of the movement of Prevost on that place. Se- 
lecting his ablest men and horses, he pushed forward by forced 
marches and entered the city on the 8th of May. Three days after- 
wards the enemy appeared before the town. The consternation was 
universal. But Pulaski, sallying forth at the head of his legion and 
a few mounted vohuiteers, made a dashing assault on the foe ; and 
though the immediate results were not great, the boldness and spirit 
of the attack restored confidence to the alarmed citizens. On the 
retreat of Prevost, a few days after, Pulaski followed him up, 
harassing his army at every assailable point. In the autunm, d'Es- 
taing appeared on the coast, and the memorable siege of Savannah 
was undertaken. When it was decided to attempt carrying the 
works by assault, Pulaski was assigned the command of both the 
French and American cavalry. The disastrous result of the day is 
well known. The allies were repulsed with immense slaughter. 
Pulaski was numbered with the slain. He had been stationed in the 
rear of the advanced columns, but when he heard of the havoc made 
among the French troops in crossing the swamp that lay between 
them and the works, he turned to his companions, and shaking his 



406 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTIOX. 



sabre over his head, called to them to follow : then giving spurs to 
his horse, he rushed forward, though almost blinded by the smoke, 
and pressed right through the fire of the hostile batteries, his clear, 
ringing voice heard, continually, between the explosions of the artil- 
lery. Suddenly a swivel-shot struck him in the groin, as he was 
swiftly dashing on. He reeled back, the sabre dropped from his 
hand, and he fell to the ground mortally wounded. 

He lingered, for some days, after the repulse ; and at last died on 
board the U. S. brig Wasp, as she was leaving the mouth of the Sa- 
vannah river. His body was committed to the deep. Congress, on 
hearing of his untimely death, voted that a monument should be 
erected to his memory. The resolution, however, has never been 
carried into effect; but a beautiful cenotaph has been put up in Sa- 
vannah by private subscription, Pulaski died at the age of thirtv- 
two. There is a melancholy fitness in the place of his sepulture : 
he had no country, and he has no grave ! 



_-.^ 








, ,. VJSiiiuliB &m a skrf.Jily T -U'lis.mKchari 



mm-^m\ momqjwiemtt^eipdsocoiml ©moj^cga. 



A 1/ A N A H 




ROBERT KIRK WOOD 




OBERT KIRKWOOD, a Captain in the con- 
tinental line, was bom in Newcastle conntV', 
Delaware, in the year 1756. He fell on the 
bloody field of Miami, November the 4th, 
1792, being, at the time of his death, the oldest 
Captain on the list. His career is an example 
of bravery unrewarded, and patriotism conti- 
nuing unabated notwithstanding neglect. He entered the army in 
1776, as a Lieutenant in the regiment of his native state, and conti- 
nued- with it to the close of the contest, when he came out its senior 
officer. Yet, as the regiment had been reduced to a Captain's com- 
mand by the casualties of the service, he had risen to no higher rank 
than a Captain, the regulations prohibiting his promotion under sucli 
circumstances. It must ever be a subject of regret that Kirkwood 
was not raised to a loftier position. Both personally, and in con- 
sideration of the services of his regiment, one of the most gallant in 
the army, he deserved a Colonel's, if not a Brigadier's commission. 
This self-sacrificing soldier risked his life for his country oftener, 
perhaps, than any other officer in the army. The battle in which 
he fell was the thirty-third he had fought. He was present at Long 
Island, Trenton and Princeton as a Lieutenant. Being promoted to 
a captaincy in 1777, he fought in that rank, with his brave Dela- 
warians, at Brandy wine, Germantown and Monmouth. In 1780 he 
accompanied Gates to South Carolina. At the battle of Camden, 
the little band of Kirkwood, in conjunction with the Maryland line, 
desperately maintained the sinking fortunes of the day under 
DeKalb, and by their veteran courage, still struggling after all 
others had fled, covered themselves with immortal glory. One fact 
will forcibly present the heroic valor of Kirkwood's troops, and the 
awful carnage of the battle. Of eight companies of the Delaware 

407 



408 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

regiment that went into battle, but two came out, the remainder 
being either killed or made prisoners. In this conflict Colonel 
Vaughan and Major Patton, Kirkwood's superior officers, were made 
captive, and continued so until the close of the war, a circumstance 
which also would have prevented his promotion, even if it had not 
been forbidden by the regulation we have named. 

After the fatal day of Camden, the two Delaware companies were 
attached as light infantry to Lee's legion. In this capacity they 
rendered invaluable service. With Kirkwood at their head, they 
formed part of the gallant rear-guard which protected the army of 
Greene during his retreat to the Dan. At Guilford Court House, at 
Hobkirk's Hill, and at Eutaw Springs, they fought valiantly, mind- 
ful of their past glories and eager for new laurels; until at last, dis- 
ciplined by so many conflicts, no sooner did these scarred and im- 
passable veterans appear on any part of the field than confidence 
immediately filled every heart. But it was at the Cowpens that 
the coolness of their leader, and their own more than Roman firm- 
ness shone forth conspicuously. When Colonel Howard was ordered 
to charge, at the crisis of that battle, Kirkwood was at the head of 
the first platoon of that officer's corps ; and promptly springing foi'- 
ward ten paces in advance, he charged with his espontoon, calling, 
in a confident voice, for the men to "come on!" The example 
stimulated the whole regiment. The long line of bayonets was 
levelled on the instant, and the soldiers dashed forward to that 
memorable charge. 

On the conclusion of the war, Kirkwood, through the influence of 
Washington, was made a JNIajor by brevet. He now devoted him- 
self to agricultural pursuits. But when the incursions of the Indians 
rendered it necessary to send an army to chastise them, Kirkwood 
again took the field, the oldest captain of the oldest regiment in the Uni- 
ted States. In the battle of Miami, at which St. Clair was routed, Kirk- 
wood, though he had been ill for several days, fought with the most 
desperate courage, cheering his own men on, and inspiring others also 
by his daring example. At last he was shot through the abdomen and 
fell. When the retreat was ordered he crawled to a tree, and in this 
situation a companion found him, and proposed to carry him ofi'. 
" No," said the hero, " I am dying : save yourself, if you can ; and 
leave me to my fate. But, as the last act of friendship you can con- 
fer on me, blow my brains out. I see the Indians coming, and God 
knows how they will treat me." His friend was affected to tears. He 
shook the dying soldier by the hand, and left him to his fate. Kirk- 
wood was never heard of more ! 







BARON DE KALB. 




V^^ARON DE KALB, a Major-Gene- 
) Cy ral in the continental army, was born 
in Germany, though at what place 
is not known, about the year 1720. 
Pie served with distinction in the 
war of 1755, being attached to the 
imperial army, at the time it was 
in alliance with that of France. 
Towards the close of that contest 
he visited America as an agent of 
the Court of Versailles, and was 
so struck with the loyalty of the 
inhabitants, that he was accustom- 
ed, during the Revolution, to suy, 
that nothing but a series of tlie 
most absurd blunders on the part of the British Government, could 
52 KK 409 



410 THE HKROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

have alienated such devoted adherents. He rose in the French 
service to the rank of Brigadier. 

De Kalb, like Steuben and Pulaski, came to the United States at 
the instigation of the French Government; and it is even believed 
that he acted as a secret agent for the Court of Versailles. Such a 
confidential messenger it was of extreme importance for France to 
have here, in consequence of the conflicting accounts received at 
Paris of the strength, disposition and zeal of the colonists. The 
Baron was a keen observer of character ; possessed of an accurate 
judgment; with great knowledge of men and things; simple in his 
manners, affable, winning and amiable. On his arrival in America 
he was appointed a Major-General in the army, and speedily won 
all hearts by his frankness and condescension. His experience was 
of great service to the cause. 

The Baron served nearly three years in the armies of the United 
States, having arrived in this country with La Fayette in 1777. In 
his mode of life he was exceedingly abstemious, maintaining the 
same temperate diet, to which he had been accustomed in his youth 
and poverty. He lived chiefly on beef-soup and bread; and drank 
nothing but water. His habits were industrious. He was accus- 
tomed, in summer, to rise with the dawn; and in winter, before day. 
He spent much of his time in writing, employing hieroglyphics and 
large folio books. This favored the idea to which we have alluded, 
and which was generally circulated through the army, that he was 
an agent of the Court of France. He betrayed unceasing jealousy 
lest his journals should be perused; and seemed to be very anxious 
respecting the safety of his baggage, which could only have been 
valuable on account of these manuscripts. What became of his 
papers was never known. If they were such as has been presumed, 
they, perhaps, passed into the hands of the French Ambassador. 

On the disastrous field of Camden, he commanded the regulars, 
and made the most desperate exertions to change the fortunes of the 
day. For three-quarters of an hour, at the head of these brave 
troops, he stenmied the tide of victory. He charged the enemy 
incessantly with the bayonet, and once took several prisoners. But 
even heroic courage was in vain. The struggle grew, every 
moment, more hopeless for De Kalb. The militja having fled in 
all directions, Cornwallis concentrated all his forces for a decisive 
attack on the contuientals, and the cavalry coming up at the same 
time, penetrated through and through the opposing ranks, sabring 
them without mercy. De Kalb, fighting on foot in this last despe- 
rate moment, fell under eleven wounds. At his fall, the fog still 



BARON DE KALB. 411 

concealed the flight of Gates; and it was some time before the dying 
hero could be made to believe the Americans were defeated. 

His loss immediately broke the courage of the troops. The flight 
now became general. A third of the brave regulars, however, were 
left on the ground, and, in their midst, lay the gallant old man who 
had rallied them to that terrible strife. Exhausted and bleeding, his 
uniform soiled by the struggle, he was undistinguishable from the 
common mass; and as the enemy came rushing on, a dozen bayonets 
were presented at his bosom. At this instant his Aid-de-camp, Du 
Buyssen, with a disregard of his own peril that should render his 
memory immortal, threw himself above the body and extending his 
arms, cried, " Save the Baron De Kalb — save the Baron De Kaib." 
The petition was not in vain. In the confusion of the moment a 
few additional wounds were received by the fallen General, but a 
British officer interposing, he was preserved from further danger 
and borne from the fatal field. Du Buyssen himself was wounded 
in several places, in consequence of this generous efl:brt to dt^fend 
his friend : but, instead of regretting this, he pointed to his wounds 
with pride, declaring he wished they had been greater, if that would 
have availed. 

De Kalb lived several days after the battle. He was treated with 
every attention by the enemy, but no skill could save his life, and 
when he found his end approaching, he prepared to die like a soldier 
and a hero. His last moments were devoted to the gallant conti- 
nentals of his division, the troops of the Maryland and Delaware 
line, who had stood by him on the field of Camden and performed 
such prodigies of valor. He dictated a letter to General Smallwood, 
who succeeded to the command of this division, expressing his 
sincere aff'ection for the officers and men, dilating, at the same 
time, on the glow of admiration their late conduct had awakened in 
his bosom, and repeating the encomiums which it had extorted from 
the enemy. Then, finding the dimness of death stealing over his 
vision, he stretched out his hand to the faithful Du Buyssen, and j 
said, " Tell my brave fellows I died thinking of them — tell them j 
they behaved like veterans." After this, he closed his eyes, and | 
sank placidly into the arms of death. 

De Kalb was a friend to America, not from mercenary motives, 
but from a sense of the justice of her cause. When the British 
officer who had captured him, condoled with him on his approach- 
ing dissolution, the Baron replied : " I thank you for your generous 
sympathy, but I die the death I always prayed for; the death of a 
soldier fighting for the rights of man." ' 



41! 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION, 



Years after his death, Washington, standing by his grave, said: 
" So, there Ues the brave De Kalb : the generous stranger who came 
from a distant land to fight our battles, and to water with his blood 
the tree of liberty. Would to God he had lived to share its fruits!" 

Congress resolved to erect a monument to his remains with a 
suitable inscription, and the city of Annapolis, in Maryland, was 
chosen for the place of its erection. 




BArrI.E OF camdk.n. 




YORKTOWN BATTLS-GUonND. 



MARQUIS DE LA FAYETTE. 




ILBERT MOTTIER, 
4^ Marquis de La Fay- 
ette, a Major-Gencral 
in the American army, 
is celebrated for leaving 
a luxurious home, the 
splendors of rank, and 
a beloved wife, to fight 
the battles of a strange 
people, struggling, in a 
distant continent, for 
freedom. This gene- 
rous act will render his 
name immortal. He 
was born of an ancient 
family in France, in the province of Auvergne, on the 6th of Sep- 
tember, 1757. Possessed of an immense estate, and surrounded by 
all the temptations of a profligate court, it is a wonder that he was 
i 41J 



414 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

able to preserve his heart so comparatively pure and fresh. At 
sixteen he was united in marriage to a daughter ol" the Noailles 
family, a union which, unlike most of those of the nobility, was 
attended by felicity. Adopting the profession of a soldier, La Fay- 
ette, at nineteen, was stationed, as Captain of Dragoons, at Metz, 
one of the garrisoned towns of France. It was while here, in the 
summer of 1776, that he met the Duke of Gloucester, brother to the 
King of England, at a grand entertainment given by the commandant 
to this distinguished visitor, and listened while the prince narrated 
the revolt of the American colonies and their subsequent Declaration 
of Independence. La Fayette was fascinated by what he heard. 
Naturally of a warm and somewhat imaginative spirit, he conceived 
the idea of offering his sword to the Americans. He consulted several 
of his friends, but received little encouragement. He did not, how- 
ever, abandon his project. At last he met the Baron de Kalb, who 
was himself about to join the colonists, and through his influence 
was introduced to Silas Deane, the American Commissioner in Paris. 
Mr. Deane, by his vivid pictures of the struggle, enlisted more 
warmly than ever the sympathies of his young visitor, and finally 
La Fayette declared his fixed determination to offer his services to 
Congress. The rank of Major-General, in consequence, was pro- 
mise4,hiin by the Commissioner. 

La Fayette was still in Paris, however, when the news was 
received of the disastrous campaign of 1776. At the same time 
arrived Dr. Franklin and Arthur Lee, who had been sent to France 
to join Silas Deane. Both these gentlemen, under the altered cir- 
cumstances of the case, endeavored to })ersuade La Fayette against 
prosecuting his original intention. But the young hero was not to 
be deterred. His wife secretly exhorted him to persevere, fired by 
an enthusiasm as holy as his own. He resolved accordingly to 
purchase a vessel, to freight it with supphes, and to set sail withoiU 
delay for the shores of America. His intention having been dis- 
covered, a royal order was issued to detain his person ; but making 
his escape to Spain, in company with De Kalb and ten other officers, 
he succeeded in embarking from that kingdom. His passage was 
protracted, stormy and perilous. He landed near Georgetown, 
South Carolina, and spent his first night at the house of Major 
Huger. Losing no time in unnecessary delay, he hastened to 
Charleston, and thence to Philadelphia, where he immediately sent 
his recommendations to the Committee on Foreign Relations. The 
answer was promptly returned that, in consequence of the number 
of such applications, it was doubted whether he could obtam a 




[LA F^'^EVUl 




y^//^^ 



MARQTJIS DE LA FAYETTE. 415 

commission. The truth is that Congress had already fomid itself 
embarrassed by the mueasonable promises made, on its behalf, by 
Silas Deane to numerous foreign adventurers. Without waiting, 
therefore, to scrutinize the claims of La Fayette, the Committee, 
fancying his case was similar to the others, returned this discou- 
raging answer. But La Fayette was not to be repulsed. He had 
come to America from a sincere desire to aid the struggling colonists, 
not from mere love of rank or desire for emoluments. Accordingly 
he sent a note to the President, offering his services as a volunteer, 
and refusing to accept pay. This language, so different from that 
usually employed, induced an examination of his letters. The 
obstacles which he had overcome in reaching our shores soon began 
to be whispered about, moreover; and the result of all was an 
instant acceptance of his offers, and the tender of a commission as 
Major-General. 

It was at a dinner party that La Fayette was first introduced to 
Washington. The Commander-in-chief took him apart and con- 
versed with him in the most flattering manner, and this little 
attention so fixed the gratitude of the young noble, that from that 
hour, he was entirely devoted to the hero. With that insight into 
character which was one of the prominent traits of Washington, he 
saw, at once, the excellent heart, the modesty, and the abilities of 
the Marquis ; and when he recalled to mind the dangers La Fayette 
had braved, as well as the risk he had run, the Commander-in-chief 
could not withhold his affection. He invited La Fayette accordingly 
to make head-quarters his home. The love that grew up between 
the young noble and the august hero is one of the most beautiful 
incidents in our Revolutionary history. It was on the one part 
something of the affection of a parent, tempered with that of a 
brother ; on the other, not unlike that of a son, sweetened by a more 
equal relationship. On one side the consciousness of superior wis- 
dom and talent only increased the love of the elder ; on the other 
the reverential respect of the younger hallowed, while it exalted his 
devotion. No subsequent events ever disturbed the harmony of that 
mutual regard. When Lee, at the battle of Monmouth, after first 
refusing, insisted on receiving the command of the attacking party, 
it became necessary to displace La Fayette, yet the latter submitted 
without a complaint, satisfied with the explanations of Washington. 
When the Conway cabal, at the head of the Board of War, planned 
the expedition against Canada, it appointed La Fayette to the chief 
command in order to detach him from the interests of the Com- 
mander-in-chief: but the Marquis no sooner penetrated the designs 



416 TIfE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

of the conspirators, than he took occasion to express, in plain terms, 
his dissent from them, and in consequence the enterprise was suf- 
fered to drop. At the close of the war, before sailing for his native 
country, La Fayette visited Mount Vernon, and on his departure, 
Washington rode several miles witii him. They never met again ! 
The services of La Fayette, during the war, were many and 
/ important. He first fought at the battle of Brandywine, where he 
served as a volunteer, and where, exposing himself with the greatest 
intrepidity, he was severely wounded in the leg. For two months, 
m consequence of this injury, he was debarred from active service. 
In the succeeding winter, the expedition to Canada was projected. 
In May he distinguished himself by his retreat from Barren Hill, in 
the face of a much superior force of the enemy. At the battle of 
Monmouth, in June, 1778, he acted with the highest spirit. During 
the siege of Newport, after d'Estaing had signified his intention to 
visit Boston to re-fit. La Fayette rendered the most important services 
to America, by healing the breach which the obstinacy of the French 
Admiral and the heat of Sullivan's temper had caused. The war 
which broke out between England and France at this period, the 
result of the treaty between the latter power and America, altered 
l^a Fayette's relations, in his opinion, towards his native country, 
and he considered it his duty accordingly to return to Paris, and 
otfer his aid to his King, in whose service he still continued. Con- 
gress granted him an unlimited leave of absence, and caused a 
sword to be presented to him, with suitable devices. He reached 
the shores of France, on the 12th of February, 1779, after an absence 
of about two years, and was immediately hailed with enthusiasm, 
especially by the people ; and though for awhile the Court behaved 
coldly towards him, he was finally received into favor, and a com- 
mand in the King's own regiment of dragoons bestowed on him. 

In March, 1780, after a sojourn of a year in his native land. La 
Fayette returned to the United States. He came, bringing intelli- 
gence of the resolution of France to sustain the colonies with a 
large army, and in consequence was welcomed with the most rap- 
turous enthusiasm, and hailed, after Washington, as the saviour 
of the country ! Congress noticed his return with complimentary 
resolutions. One of the first acts he was called on to perform, was to 
sit as a member of the Board that tried Andre. In the spring of 1 781 
he was sent into Virginia, where his manoeuvres against Cornwallis 
gained him the highest credit. He acted, in this campaign, with 
such consummate judgment, that though the English General often 
exclaimed ''that boy cannot escape me," every plan for his capture 



MARQUIS DE LA FAYETTE. 



417 



was frustrated, and he finally enjoyed the pleasure of seeing his 
boastful antagonist reduced to the mortification of a surrender. Nor 
was the devotion of La Fayette to his adopted country less con- 
spicuous than his military ability. On one occasion, his men being 
in want of necessaries, and the treasury empty, he raised the sum 
required, in Baltimore, on his personal responsibility. He was present 
at the siege of Yorktown, where he commanded the detachment of 
American troops that stormed one of the two redoubts of the enemy. 
There had been some playful remarks among the allies, as to whether 
the French or Americans would carry their respective redoubts first. 
La Fayette stormed his with such impetuosity that the men rushed 
in without waiting for the abatis to be removed. He sent word of 
this success to the Baron de Viomenel, who commanded the French 
detachment. " Tell the Marquis we are not yet in, but shall be, in 
five minutes," was the reply, and the Baron was as good as his 
word. 




MOOBES HOL = 



jWS — WiiJiht Ii 



CAI'ITVLATIOS WAS SIG.VED. 



After the fall of Cornwallis, La Fayette sailed for France, bui 
re-visited America in 1784. He was received with enthusiasm 
wherever he came. Cities and states. Legislatures and Congress 
vied with each other in demonstrations of respect towards him ; and 
when he departed for his native shores, the world witnessed the 
spectacle of a young man, scarcely twenty-five, carrying with him 
the regrets of a whole nation. In France almost equal honors 
53 



41 S THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. 

awaited him. He had been appointed a Major-General in the 
French army, his commission to date from the sm-render of Corn- 
vvallis; and the Revolution, which soon after succeeded, elevated 
him to new honors, and a power superior to that even of royalty. 
His career, during the troubled times that succeeded, it does not 
become us to paint. He has been charged with imbecility, but 
without justice, for his conduct throughout was temperate and patri- 
otic, if not always sagacious and wise. There were two things in 
the character of La Fayette which prevented his permanent ascend- 
ancy in the French Revolution. He was too honest himself for the 
men who labored with him, and he mistook the condition and wants 
of the people. He fancied a republic, like that of the United States, 
could be established on the ruins of the diseased monarchy of France, 
and that those who had been ignorant subjects could, by mere voli- 
tion, become competent rulers. Never was there a greater mistake. 
America, in shaking off her allegiance and establishing a republic, 
in reality altered her form of government but little, and the difference 
between the old state of things and new consisted more in names 
than in things ; but in France the change was radical, and affected 
the social as well as the political frame of society. The intellect of 
La Fayette was more imitative than original. He had learned to 
reverence the counsels of Washington, and consider the government of 
the United States the most perfect in the world ; and hence con- 
cluded that nothing could be better adapted to France. But he 
totally forgot the vast difference between the people of the two coun- 
tries, and other circumstances, of which a more profound statesman 
would not have lost sight. 

On the 12th of July, 1789, the bastile was destroyed, and, from 
that hour, the violence of the Revolution increased every hour. The 
old spirit of brutality and massacre, the elements of which the pro- 
phetic eye of Burke had seen existing as far back as 1774, now 
broke forth with insatiate fury, and, for four years, Paris was deli- 
vered over to all the terrors of anarchy. The Tuilleries were 
stormed on the 10th of August, 1791, and the constitutional mon- 
archy overthrown. In the succeeding month the massacres in the 
prisons occurred. In July, 1792, the King was beheaded. In the 
Spring the Girondists were overthrown, and after them Dan ton ; and 
then, for one long year of horror, Robespierre raged, like a wild 
beast athirst for blood. The reign of terror froze every heart with 
fear. But La Fayette did not remain to witness this sanguinary 
drama. Finding himself, after the execution of the King, beset by 
suspicion, and satisfied that purity of motive would be no defence 



MARQUIS DE LA FAYETTE. 419 

against the men who then ruled at Paris, he determined to fly ; and 
accordingly, on receiving secret intelligence that he had been de- 
nounced as a traitor in the National Assembly, he abandoned the com- 
mand of the army, and rode hastily toward the enemy's posts. At 
Liege he was seized by the Austrians, who, in defiance of his coming 
as a fugitive, and not as an enemy, delivered him to the Prussians, 
who were then at war with France. By these he was confined in 
the fortress of Magdeburg, in a damp, gloomy and subterraneous 
vault. On an exchange of prisoners taking place between France 
and Prussia, La Fayette was transferred to the charge of Austria, 
in order to avoid including him in the cartel. He was now thrown 
into a dungeon, in the fortress of Olmutz, in Moravia. 

Here, excluded from all communication with the outer world, and 
deprived of a knife and fork, lest he should commit suicide in his 
despair, he lingered out several years. During his imprisonment an 
unsuccessful attempt at his liberation was made on the part of a 
young American named Huger, and a German named Bollman, 
both of whom, being detected, were chained by the neck to the 
floors of separate cells, for a space of six months. At last, towards 
the close of 1795, the rigor of La Fayette's confinement was miti- 
gated in part, and his wife permitted to join him, though only on 
condition that she should never again return to freedom. Finally, 
through the intercession of Washington, and what was even more 
effective, the threats of Napoleon, La Fayette was set at liberty, 
though with shattered health and broken fortunes. 
. On the fall of the Directory, which soon occurred. La Fayette 
returned to France and established himself at Lagrange. Napoleon 
was now First Consul, and, with that sagacious policy which always 
distinguished him, sought to make La Fayette his partizan. But the 
pupil of Washington was too true a republican to be thus seduced. 
He constantly opposed the arbitrary course of the Emperor, and 
assisted to produce his fall in 1815. 

In 1824, La Fayette visited the United States for the last time. 
Forty years had passed since he had departed from our shores, and 
in that time one generation had passed away and another filled half 
its allotted period. The republic which he had left in its infancy 
had grown into a mighty nation. Where there had been pathless 
forests were now populated towns. In all the chief cities he was 
welcomed with processions, with civic banquets, with the unbought 
huzzas of thousands of spectators. Occasionally, in the crowds that 
flocked to greet him, he would distinguish some grey-haired veteran, 
the companion of his revolutionary campaigns, and the two would 



420 



THE HKROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



rush together with tears that affected all who beheld the scene. 
When he returned to France, a national vessel was otfered to carry 
him home. In the whole range of history, ancient or modern, there 
is no instance of similar honors being paid to any hero, by the free 
and spontaneous will of a whole people, li stands alone in the 
world's annals, a glorious example to future times ! 

La Fayette took an active part in the Three Days' Revolution 
of 1830. But the administration of Louis Philippe soon disgusting 
him, he retired again to private life, from which nothing could in- 
duce him subsequently to emerge. He died at his seat at Lagrange, 
in 1834. With characteristic modesty he shunned, even in deatli, 
the pomp of this world. He lies buried in a rural cemetery near 
Paris, sleeping between his heroic wife and daughter ! 





GKNKKAL GKEEKK'S liMRANCK INTO CH*IlLi:STON. 



NATHANAEL GllEENE 




a cautious policy 



ATHANAEL GREENE, a 

Major-General in the Ameri- 
can army, wns, after Wash- 
iusfton, the ablest of the revo- 
lutionary leaders. His mind, 
indeed, was strikingly similar 
to that of the Commander-in- 
chief. He possessed the same 
calm judgment, the same pa- 
tient investigation, the same 
energy, perseverance and ca- 
pacity of adapting himself to 
circumstances. He differed 
from Washington, however, 
in a nature less disciplined to 
annoyances. He had the 
boldness and originality of 
the Commander-in-chief; yet, 
like him, he long adhered to 
The same considerations, in fact, governed both 
T-L 421 



422 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION'. 

ill thus surrendering the native bent of their genius, Tliey saw its 
necessity, and did not hesitate in abandoning present fame for future 
victory. Wlien Washington, year after year, stood on the defensive, 
and when Greene made his memorable retreat through North Caro- 
lina, there were many, even among the wisest and purest patriots, 
who openly charged them Avith incapacity ; but both these great 
Generals, conscious of the superior comprehensiveness of their views, 
persisted in the course they had laid down for themselves, and 
finally triumphed. It is now clear that any other system would 
have failed. But Greene, though equal to Washington in many 
respects, was still his inferior. He Avas at times rash, especially in 
his earlier career. The loss of Fort Washington is to be attributed 
to his too sanguine assurances. But as the war progressed, experi- 
ence went far toward correcting this error, for, in his southern cam- 
paigns, he rarely, or never ventured too much. His boldness was 
then tempered with prudence, and had become filed down until it 
formed his best quality. Nothing can exceed in daring, the resolu- 
tion he took to abandon Virginia to Cornwallis, yet it was based on 
the soundest rules, and eventually led both to the ruin of that Gene- 
ral, and the emancipation of the Carolinas. 

Greene had great self-confidence. He rarely called a council of 
oliicers, but revolved and decided his measures in the silent depths 
of his own mind. He governed his movements very much accord- 
ing to his estimate of his opponent's character. In his campaign 
against Cornwallis he evinced a profound insight into the foibles of 
that Commander, and availed himself of this knowledge with consum- 
mate skill and effect. He omitted nothing which could assist to win 
success. Hence he was indefatigable in his labors, as well of body 
as of mind. In examining whatever subject came under his notice, 
he first thoroughly mastered the details, and then formed his opinion. 
Wlien he assumed conmiand of the southern army, he perused the 
whole correspondence of his predecessors, and, in every other way, 
strove to become acquainted with the condition, resources and char- 
acter of the south. In consequence, the instant he was installed, his 
plans for the campaign were already formed. He was unfortunate 
in never gaining a decided victory, yet his defeats he so managed 
as to be more permanently injurious to his antagonist than to him- 
self. He soon inspired the enemy with the same dread of him 
which they entertained of Washington. Like that great commandei 
he never could be brought to battle until he was ready for it. Now 
retreating and now advancing; by times prudent and bold; fer- 
tile in expedients; profound in combinations— the triumph which 



^^ATHANAEL GREENE. 423 

eventually crowned his arms is to be attributed, as in the case of tfie 
(ieneral-in-chief, rather to his successful strategy than to any deci- 
sive victories he gained. He was fond of the excitement of battle. 
In moments of emergency, he exposed his person with the same 
recklessness as if he had been a common soldier : thus, at Hobkirk's 
Hill, he thrice led up the Virginia regiment to within twenty paces 
of the enemy. He shared every privation with his troops, besides 
enduring an amount of personal labor almost incredible. Frequently 
he did not undress for weeks except to change his linen. From the 
day he set out to join the camp of Morgan, at the beginning of the 
retreat through North Carolina, to the hour when he saw his little 
army landed in safely on tlie northern shore of the Dan, he never 
took off his clothes to sleep. He was a rigid disciplinarian, yet 
beloved by his troops. When he joined the southern army he found 
the different corps, with but few exceptions, in a lamentable state of 
disorganization. He had to hang one man for insubordination, and, 
after that, all went well. Within a year, at the battle of Eutaw, his 
army proved itself, in discipline, equal to the best English veterans. 
He waged war in the south under disadvantages that would have 
crushed any other man but Washington. At first he had neither 
men, arms nor money : yet he managed to preserve the two first, 
and to fight without the last. No General better understood the 
moral effect any given movement would have on his own forces or 
those of his enemy ; and many of his actions are to be traced rather 
to the desire to inspirit the patriots than to produce an immediate 
effect on the foe. The battle of Guilford was of this description. 
Its result, even with defeat, was to dishearten the tories. His 
movement on the left of Cornwallis, which led to the battle of the 
Cowpens, and which has been condemned by so many, was made 
with this design ; for, if he had not thrown Morgan in that direction, 
even at the risk of the latter being cut off, he could neither have 
victualled his troops, nor imparted that confidence which was so 
necessary to obtain recruits. He early saw the value of cavalry in 
a southern campaign. Of the militia he had no very high opinion, 
nor do they appear generally to have deserved it. The brigade of 
Marion was indeed of invaluable benefit, and the services of that 
General deservedly rank second only to those of Greene ; but the 
men of Marion were useful merely as light troops, and could not be 
depended on in battle, unless under the eye of their leader. Greene 
was rarely disheartened. After a repulse, instead of wasting time 
in useless regrets, he set himself at work to repair the disaster. A 
blow might stagger him, but could not strike him to tiie earth, for. 



424 THE HT:ROfcS OF THF. REVOhUTIOX. 

rallying immediately, he returned to the strife, and wore out his 
antagonist in the end by his superior powers of endurance. In 
short, he was the Washington of the south. 

Greene was born at Warwick, Rhode Island, on the 27th of May, 
1742. His family were Friends, in which denomination his father 
was a preacher ; and Greene himself continued a member of that 
sect until he was disowned in consequence of assuming arms. He 
early displayed a taste for study, especially for the mathematics ; and 
the seat was still pointed out, a few years since, in his father's forge, 
where he used to pore over Euclid while the iron was heating. He 
became acquainted with Dr Stiles, of jNIewport, and subsequently 
with Lindley Murray ; and the study ot Watts' Logic and Locke on 
the Understanding was the result of those intimacies. Gradually he 
acquired a small library. Having few books he studied these 
thoroughly ; and to this, perhaps, is to be attributed the force and 
originality of his subsequent opinions. He enjoyed high animal 
s^iirits, however, and was more fond of fun and frolic than comported 
with the decorum of a Quaker. This exuberance continued with 
him through life, except in the gloomiest periods of the southern 
war; and when peace was declared, at the age of forty, he used to 
amuse himself at Newport, by playing with his wife the old game 
of Puss in the Corner. His father, on Greene's approach to man- 
hood, took him into business, and soon the whole care of one of the 
mills and forges, those of Powtohomnet, fell under his charge. His em- 
inent abilities were not long without being discovered by his neigh- 
bors, who, in 1770, elected him to the General Assembly ; and he con- 
tinued to be returned by them, year after year, until some time sub- 
sequent to his assuming command of the southern army. He took 
part with the colonists from the first, and, as if guided by a secret 
instinct to his future destiny, began to turn his attention to the study 
of military science. A company of volunteers being formed in 1774. 
at East Greenwich, called the Kentish Guards, and Greene having 
failed to obtain votes sutiicient for a Lieutenancy, he patriotically 
enlisted as a private. Finding that there were no arms to equip liis 
fellow soldiers, he secretly visited Boston, and not only procured a 
supply, but induced a deserter to return with him as drill master. 
When the news of the battle of Lexington reached Rhode Island, 
the drum of the Kentish Guards beat to arms, but the Royal Gov- 
ernor requiring thein to return, none of the officers dared to disobey. 
Greene, however, pushed forward, with four others, whom he infiu- 
eiiced to follow his example. This conduct was remembered when 
the Assembly proceeded, shortly afterwards, to raise an army of 



NATHANAEL GREENE. . 425 

sixteen hundred men ; and Greene, whose abiUty was well known 
in that body, was at once raised over all competitors to the post of 
Major-General. He repaired immediately to Cambridge. When 
Congress placed the forces on the continental establishment, Greene 
was appointed a Brigadier, a descent in rank which he accepted 
without complaining, but which was destined not to be of long du- 
ration. 

Greene was one of the first to see the necessity of a Declaration 
of Independence, a measure which he recommended as early as the 
4th of June, 1775. The similarity of mind existing between him 
and Washington soon drew them into terms of comparative intimacy. 
Greene was of opinion, with the Commander-in-cliief, that an attack 
should be made on Boston. When the army moved to New York, 
Greene was selected to command at Brooklyn, a proof of the high 
estimation in which he stood already with Washington and tlie 
army. He immediately began a careful study of the ground on 
which the expected battle was to be fought ; but unfortunately, just 
as he had completed his preparations, he fell ill of a bilious fever, 
which brought him to the brink of the grave. It is possible, if he 
had continued well, that the struggle on Long Island might have 
terminated differently. During the battle, he lay on his pillow in 
New York, scarcely able to raise his head ; and as the sound of the 
cannon boomed on his ears he exclaimed, " Gracious God, to be 
confined at such a time !" When the news was brought him of the 
havoc made in Smallwood's heroic band, his favorite regiment, he 
burst into tears. On his recovery he was among the most active in 
the operations that succeeded. He had just been raised to the rank 
of Major-General, and strongly advised the abandonment and burn- 
ing of New York, but Congress had resolved that the city should be 
held to the last extremity, a fatal error ! When it became advisable 
to evacuate Fort Washington, Greene opposed it, declaring the gar- 
rison fully competent to defend the place ; and, perhaps, his conduct 
on this occasion, arising from excessive confidence, is the great 
blunder of his life. Had his wish been complied with, however, 
and the command entrusted to himself, the result might have been 
different, as he always contended. He was with Washington at 
Trenton, and besides the Commander-in-chief and Knox, was the 
only one for following up the blow by an attack on all the posts in 
New Jersey. From this hour he was secretly the first in Washing- 
ton's estimation. In the battle of Brandywine he commanded the 
reserve. At Germantown he led the right wing. When the Conway 
cabal beffan its machinations, Greene was selected as one of its first 

54 LL* 



42(> THE HEROES OK THE KETOLUTIOX. 

victims, in consequence of the consideration in which he stood with 
Washington ; and he continued, for years, to feel the evil eflects of 
the prejudices excited against him then, both as an officer and a man. 

In 1778 he was appointed Quarter-Master-General. The army 
immediately felt the benefit of the reforms he had introduced into 
his department. When he accepted the post, he reserved the right 
to command according to his raiik m the day of battle, and conse- 
([uently, in the fierce struggle at Monmouth, he took a prominent 
part, first advising an attack on the enemy, and afterwards leading 
the right wing. He next is seen at Newport, when, during the siege 
under Sullivan, he commanded one division of the army. Some 
difficulties having arisen between him and Congress, in reference to 
his duties as Quarter-Master-General, Greene sent in his resignation 
of that post, and came near throwing up his commission in the army. 
To n in ate the particulars of this dispute would extend this sketch 
too far. It is sufficient to say that Congress was unjust, and acting 
evidently under the influence of prejudice ; while Greene, though 
perhaps justifiable in his resentment, did not emulate the calmness 
and forbearance of Washington under like treatment. On the 22nd 
o{ June, 1780, Greene was attacked at Springfield, New Jersey, 
while at the head of but thirteen hundred men, by two divisions of 
the royal army numbering twenty-five hundred each. By the skil- 
ful manner in which he not only escaped destruction, but managed 
to frustrate most of the enemy's designs, in part saving the village 
from the flames, besides harassing the British retreat, he gained 
imiversal credit, both in our own army and that of Sir Henry CUn- 
ton. When the treason of Arnold was detected, and Washington 
scarcely knew, for a while, whom to trust, the post of West Point 
was assigned to Greene, as one of the few in whom the General 
could place perfect confidence. But scarcely had he entered on his 
duties when a letter from head-quarters summoned him to the com- 
mand of the southern army, recently made vacant by the removal 
of Gates. 

He stopped at Philadelphia on his way to his new post, and there 
learned, to use his own words, that the army he was called to lead, 
•' was rather a shadow than a substance, having only an imaginary 
existence." Congress could give him neither arms nor clothing, nor 
could it hold out any definite hopes for the future. He could, with 
difficulty, procure sufficient money to defray his personal expenses. 
He visited the capitals of the various states lying in his route, and 
spent a few days at each in endeavoring to arouse the different 
Legislatures to the necessity of action. His sagacious mind at once 



NATHANAEL GKEENE. 427 

perceived the possibility of a retreat being necessary, and accordingly 
he cliose Virginia as his depot for stores, in consequence of being 
further from the scene of war than North Carolina, and therefore 
safer. On the 2nd of December, 1780, he reached the camp at Char- 
lotte, and having courteously met and parted with Gates, set himself 
at once to the task before him. We cannot follow him through all 
the events of the next three years. We shall select two portions of 
his career only, as illustrative of the whole, the retreat through 
North Carolina, and the battle of Eutaw. The first at once raised 
him to the rank of a master in strategy, and has been so ably de- 
picted by the grandson of the hero, that, in describing it, we can 
scarcely hope to improve on that account. The retreat began 
immediately after the battle of the Cowpens. Greene's first movement 
had been that of a giant in military science. In order to gain the 
initiative, or at least obtain some control over the measures of the ene- 
my, as well as better to supply his army and raise the drooping spirits 
of the country, he divided his little force, sending Morgan, with six 
hundred men, across the Catawba, while he took post himself in a 
camp judiciously selected by Kosciusko at the junction of Hick's 
Creek with the Great Pedee. Cornwallis was puzzled by this bold 
movement, and for some time hesitated what to do. At last he 
resolved to efiect a junction with Leslie, and afterwards to direct the 
whole force of the army against Morgan, whom Tarleton meantime 
was to follow up, while Cornwallis held himself ready to cut ofi" his 
retreat. Tarleton began his pursuit on the 12th of January, 17S1, 
and on the 17th came up with Morgan, who had resolved to await 
him in hopes of a victory, which might throw an eclat around the 
American arms, and conceal, in part, the disgrace of a retreat. The 
battle, known as that of the Cowpens, succeeded, in which Tarleton 
met with a signal defeat. 

The conflict was scarcely over before Morgan took measures for 
continuing his retreat ; for he well knew that delay would bring 
Cornwallis, hot for revenge, upon him. Crossing the Broad River 
the same evening with his prisoners, he pushed onward to the fords 
of the Catawba. Meantime, the news of the defeat reached Corn- 
wallis in bis camp at Winnsboro. Chagrined, but not disheartened, 
he resolved on pursuing the victorious Morgan, who was but twenty- 
five miles distant, and whose retreat he yet hoped to cut off". Having 
been joined on the morning of the 18th by Leslie's detachment, he de- 
voted the rest of the day to collecting the fugitives of Tarleton ; and 
early on the morrow put his troops in motion, by a road which inter- 
sected the line of Morgan's retreat, and strained every nerve to over- 



428 THE HEllOES OF THE DEVOLUTION. 

take them in season. But it was in vain. On the 22nd the American 
General reached the Catawba, and transported his army in safety to the 
opposite shore, so that when, soon after, Cornwallis came up, he had 
the mortification to see that his enemy had okided his grasp. The 
consequences of the measures into which the strategy of Greene had 
hurried him, now rose in all their force before the British General's 
mind. He saw the fruits of Camden already slipping from his hold. 
The inhabitants, after the success of the Cowpens, hesitated to 
declare for him. He beheld himself, a second time, cut off from his 
march on North Carolina. One resource only was left him. By a 
rapid pursuit, he might hope yet to crush Morgan before the latter 
could join the main army ; and then, if with one vigorous push, he 
could overtake Greene, the American cause would be ruined. To 
the execution of this bold scheme, Cornwallis accordingly now de- 
voted all the energies of his rapid mind. It was first necessary, 
however, to convert his army into light troops, and to do this, he 
resolved on the hazardous expedient of destroying the baggage. 
The example was set by himself The baggage of head-quarters was 
first given to the flames. That of the soldiers promptly followed. 
Only a small supply of clothing, and a few wagons for hospital stores 
and for the sick were preserved. Two days were devoted to this 
task. On the third, stripped for the race, the British army renewed 
the pursuit. 

But Greene, meanwhile, had not been idle. His inferior force did 
not allow him as yet to entertain the thought of giving battle ; but 
he was incessantly occupied in strengthening it, with the hope of 
soon being adequate to the trial. At the same time, however, he 
prepared, with far seeing sagacity, for a protracted retreat, in case 
it should prove necessary. He ordered all provisions to be brought 
to camp that did not lie along the contemplated route ; the stores at 
Salisbiuy and Hihsboro were held in readiness to move, at a mo- 
ment's warning, on the upper counties of Virginia ; and, to provide 
lor the most remote contingencies, the Quarter-Master-General was 
directed to form a magazine on the Roanoke, and hold his boats in 
readiness on the Dan. The prisoners taken by Morgan, who had 
been sent on in advance, the instant that General crossed the 
Catawba, were despatched to Virginia with General Stevens, under 
the escort of a number of the troops whose terms of enlistment had 
expired. Having completed these arrangements, Greene left the 
main army to pursue its march to Salisbury, and throwing himself 
on horseback, started to join Morgan, in order to lend the influence 
of his garrison to extricate that oflicer. His way lay across the 



TfATHANAEL GREENE 489 

country for a hundred and fifty miles, yet he could only allow him- 
self, for protection, a single aid and a Serjeant's guard of dragoons. 
He reached the camp of Morgan on the 30th of January. On being 
told that Cornvvallis had destroyed his baggage, the prophetic mind 
of Greene saw, through the long vista of events to come, the conse- 
quences of the act. " He is ours," he cried exultingly. And a day 
or two after, having determined on his meinorable retreat, he wrote, 
" I am not without hopes of ruining Lord Cornwallis, if he persists 
in his mad scheme of pushing through the country." 

To understand the series of movements that followed, it is neces- 
sary to look at the map. Three rivers rise in the upper parts of the 
Carolinas, and flow in a south-easterly direction towards the Atlantic, 
The first is the Catawba ; the second the Yadkin ; and the last and 
most northern the Dan. This latter river at first follows the same 
course with the others, but finally, changing its direction, winds 
backwards and forwards over the Virginia line. To retreat from 
the Catawba north, the route of Greene would cut each of these 
rivers in succession. To place a deep river between a pursuing 
army and the pursued, is to give the latter a breathing spell ; while 
for the pursuing to overtake a retreating army between two rivers, is 
almost certain ruin for the latter. Accordingly the eflbrts of Corn- 
waUis were directed to entrap his adversary in this situation. It 
had been apparent to Greene from the first that his enemy intended 
crossing the Catawba as soon as the heavy rains, which had swollen 
the river, should subside sufficiently to allow a passage. On the 
31st it became evident that the waters were falling. Morgan was 
accordingly ordered to push on with the regulars for the Yadkin, 
while at the same time an express was despatched to the main army, 
directing it to rendezvous at Guilford instead of Salisbury. Morgan 
would have sought the refuge of the mountains, and openly declared 
he would not answer for the consequences unless this was done. 
" Nehher shall you," replied Greene, who never shrunk from 
responsibility, " for I will take the measure upon myself" Having 
thus sent forward the regular troops, Greene left a body of militia 
to harass the enemy in crossing the Catawba. They were about 
five hundred in number, chiefly drawn from the neighboring dis- 
tricts, and were under the command of General Davidson, in whom 
they placed unbounded confidence. Greene himself retired to a 
place selected for the rendezvous, sixteen miles in advance on the 
road to Salisbury. Day was just breaking, on the morning of the 
1st of February, when the British column advanced to the ford. 
The rain fell in torrents ; the prospect was dark and lowering ; and 



4 30 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

the waters whirling and foaming by, flashed back the fitful glare of 
the American watch-fires on the opposite bank. It was a scene to 
appal an ordinary enemy ; but the soldiers of Cornwallis, without a 
pause, plunged into the roaring torrent. The waters soon rose to 
their waists. Frequently the men were swept from their foot- 
holds. General O'Hara was carried down the stream and came near 
losing his life. But the cavalry struggled manfully on ; while the 
grenadiers, leaning on each other, presented an adamantine wall to 
the rushing waters. When half way across, the muskets of the 
Americans blazed through the gloom, and the battle began. Nothing 
intimidated, the gallant veterans of Cornwallis pressed on, and 
though numbers contimially dropped from the ranks, the rest 
steadily persevered, and gaining the bank, after a sharp conflict, 
dispersed the handful of militia. General Davidson, in mount- 
ing his horse to direct a retreat, was shot dead, on which his 
men fled in every direction, most of them taking to the woods. 
Cornwallis himself had a narrow escape. His horse was wound- 
ed while yet in the water, and though the noble animal strug- 
gled to the shore, he fell the moment he reached it. Tarleton pur- 
suing the advantage, overtook some of the fugitives about ten miles 
from the ford. The militia, trained to fire from their horses, received 
him with a volley, and dashed into the woods. A pursuit was use- 
less, and the British Colonel was forced to return with a loss of seven 
men and twenty horses. 

Meanwhile Greene remained at the rendezvous, ignorant of the 
result of the skirmish, and tormented with anxiety. The rain still 
fell in torrents and he was drenched to the skin. At last, about 
midnight, a messenger arrived with the news of the defeat. Turning 
his horse's head to Salisbury, he alighted at that place towards morn- 
ing completely worn out. His friend. Dr. Read, had been waiting his 
arrival, and observing the expression of his face, anxiously inquired 
how he was. " Fatigued, hungry, alone and penniless," was the almost 
despondent reply of Greene. The last word struck the ear of his 
landlady, and when he had sat down to breakfast, she entered the 
room, and cautiously fastening the door, drew from under her apron 
two small bags of specie. "Take these," said she, "for you will 
want them and I can do without them." This simple offering 
touched the heart of the defeated commander. He took the money, 
for he was truly without a penny; and the gift proved afterwards 
of the greatest value in procuring intelligence. What more beautiful 
than this touching incident of a woman's patriotism? 

The army of Morgan had meantime gained a day on that of 



NATHANAEL GREENE. 



431 




THE LA^DLAI)T OFFERING HER MOKEY TO GENERAL GREENE. 



Cornwallis. But the latter General, mounting a part of his infantry 
on the horses left by the destruction of the baggage, hastened tc send 
them forward, with the cavalry, in order to overtake the enemy. 
Greene, however, had now joined the little army, and, under the 
eye of their leader, the men pressed on, regardless of the toil. It 
was the height of the southern winter. The rain fell incessantly. 
The roads were of clay, deep and miry. But the same torrents 
which retarded the troops would also swell the Yadkin ; and could 
the fugitives only place it between them and their foes, they might 
repose again in safety. Sustained by this hope, they struggled 
forward, until, on the third day, they gained the banks of the river. 
The boats provided by the foresight of Greene, in contemplation of 
this emergency, were fortunately in readiness, and, in a short time, 
the main body of the army was transported to the other shore. 
Midnight arrived before the rear guard had crossed, when suddenly 
the advanced column of the enemy came up. Though almost broken 
down by toil, the Americans sprang at once to their arms, and a 
sharp skirmish ensued. O'Hara tried in vain to seize some of the 
boats.- The rear guard succeeded in crossing, and, in a few minutes, 
the British General beheld his enemy quietly encamped on the op- 
posite bank, while the river, swollen so as to be no longer fordable, 
roared in wild volume at his feet. Mortified at seeinjr the foe thus 



432 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTIOX. 

slip from his very grasp, he opened a furious cannonade, but to little 
purpose, the camp of the Americans being sheltered behind a low- 
ridge. Not far from the river, half concealed by a pile of rocks, 
stood a solitary cabin, in which Greene sat down to write his de- 
spatches, stealing for the purpose the hours allotted to sleep. Sus- 
pecting its inhabitant, the British directed the fire of their batteries 
on this spot. The shot soon bounded on the neighboring rocks, and 
shivered into splinters the pine saplings around. Still Greene wrote 
on. As the aim of the artillerists improved, the balls were heard 
whistling over the hut. Still he wrote on. At last a shot struck 
the roof, knocking the clapboards in every direction, Unawed, the 
General wrote on, and continued to do so through the night, though 
the roar and blaze of the artillery went on without cessation. 

Greene remained but a day upon the banks of the Yadkin, when, 
having recruited his troops, he advanced to the forks of Abbott's 
Creek, a secure position, where he passed four days. He was 
extremely eager to give Cornwallis battle, and made this halt in 
order, if possible, to induce the militia to join him. But he was 
doomed to disappointment. His accessions of force were inconside- 
rable, and on the 9th, when the main body joined the division of 
Morgan, at Gruilford, the returns showed only a force of twenty-six 
hundred men, fit for duty. Cornwallis, it was well known, had 
nearly three thousand, superior in discipline, accoutrements, and, 
more than all, in the prestige of success. To hazard a battle, witii 
such a disparity, would have ensured defeat ; and defeat would have 
been followed by the loss of both North Carolina and Virginia. It 
became necessary, therefore, to continue the retreat. Meantime 
Cornwallis, growing more eager than ever to crush his enemy, had 
passed up the Yadkin until he found a ford where he could cross. 
Having been foiled in preventing the junction of the two divisions 
of the American army, he was now intent on bringing it to battle 
before it could reach the shelter of the Dan. Twice had Greene 
liluded him when at the very moment of victory. He was resolved 
that, this third time, there should be no escape. The Dan was only 
ibrdable high up, and Cornwallis being nearer to those fords than 
his enemy, supposed that no course v/as left for Greene but to meet 
his pursuers or fly to the lower ferries, where there were no means 
of transportation. The British General had satisfied himself from 
the manoeuvres of his antagonist, that the latter intended to retreat 
on a ferry called Dix's, and accordingly he had taken a position 
on Greene's left, which brought him as near to that place as the 
/American General. 



NATHAXAEL GREENE. 433 

The sagacity of the latter instantly penetrated this design, which 
he saw with secret exultation, favored his own plan. He would 
have gained nothing by placing a fordable river between himself 
and his foe, for he was deficient in artillery, so necessary to defend 
the passage of such a stream. It had never been his intention, 
therefore, to retire on the upper ferries of the Dan. On the contrary 
he had, long before, prepared boats at the lower ferries, for the 
possible contingency of a retreat in that direction. He chose this 
route, moreover, because it would bring him nearer the base of his 
operations. The magazines he had collected at Roanoke were ni 
this quarter, and here also was he to look for the reinforcements 
from Virginia. But it was all important for the safety and ease of 
his troops that Cornwallis should not suspect his true design, and 
consequently the American General hastened to take such mea- 
sures as would effectually maintain his enemy's delusion. The 
distance from Guilford to Boyd's Ferry, where his boats were col- 
lected, was about seventy miles, considerably less than the distance 
of Cornwallis from the same place. To deceive the enemy as to his 
course and thus still further to increase the distance between the two 
armies, Greene formed a covering detachment of seven hundred 
picked men, partly composed of the conquerors at the Cowpens, 
partly of militia riflemen, and the remaining part of Washington's 
cavalry and Lee's celebrated legion. The whole was placed under 
the command of Col. Otho Williams. With this chosen band Wil- 
liams was ordered to throw himself between the two armies and taking 
the road towards the upper ferries, hang back so close on the foe as to 
conceal the movements of the main body of the Americans. When 
Greene should have safely crossed the Dan, Williams was to unmask, 
and make a forced march on Boyd's Ferry. 

The whole nation was, meantime, watching the struggle. Nearly 
a month had passed since the desperate trial of skill began. The 
news of the victory at the Cowpens had first arrested the public at- 
tention to the proceedings of Greene, and turned every eye in the 
direction of the Carolinas. Then had followed the pursuit of Corn- 
wallis, the bloody passage of the Catawba, and the continued retreat 
of the Americans. Greene's masterly manoBUvres had taken the 
country by surprise ! The existence of such genius in him had not been 
imagined, and all awaited with breathless interest the conclusion of 
the drama. The struggle was now drawing to a close. On the 10th 
of February the two armies were only twenty-five miles apart. 
There lay but one river more between Cornwallis and Virginia, and 
the slightest blunder on the part of Greene would crush the Ame- 
55 UM 



431 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

ricans forever. The fate of the south trembled in the balance. At 
last Greene put his main army into motion for Boyd's Ferry, and 
Williams, as directed, threw himself on the van of the British Gene- 
ral, and took the route for Dix's. As the army of Greene stretched 
away on its march, the devoted band left behind gazed with strangely 
mingled feelings, for few ever expected to behold it again. On 
fled the fugitives, scarcely allowing time for food or rest, — on 
through storm and sunshine, — on through ice and thaw, — on, 
from early dawn till long after dark. The roads were drenched 
with rain one day, and frozen stiff the next, and for miles the 
track of the fugitives was marked with blood from their lacera- 
ted feet. There was but one blanket among four men. Such was 
the haste with which they marched that they were compelled to dry 
their wet clothes by the heat of their bodies. At every step of their 
progress they feared lest Cornwallis should discover the truth, and 
thundering fast in pursuit, overtake them yet before they reached the 
Dan. Greene himself was such a prey to anxiety and watching that he 
did not sleep four hours during the whole period occupied in reaching 
the Dan. At last, on the evening of the fourth day, the army gain- 
ed the welcome river, and by the ensuing morning all the troops had 
crossed. The American General, now despatching a courier to an- 
nounce his safety to Wilhams, remained on the southern shore, in 
deep anxiety, awaiting his arrival. 

When the main body of the Americans had moved in the direc- 
tion of the lower ferries, Williams, as we have seen, by pressing close 
on the enemy's van had effectually concealed that movement. When 
he reached the road where Greene had turned ofl', he had kept the 
one leading to Dix's ; and, with secret joy, he beheld the success of 
his stratagem, as Cornwallis, neglecting the other route, pressed close 
after him. The legion of Lee, being admirably mounted, was left in 
the rear. Numerous detachments were sent out in every direction 
to observe the enemy and give the earliest intelligence of an opening 
for attack. Every night the camp was pitched at a considerable dis- 
tance from the foe. So manifold were the duties each soldier had to 
perform, that but six hours out of forty-eight were allowed for sleep. 
The troops were always in motion before day-break. By forcing a 
march, a breakfast and halt of an hour in the forenoon, was secured; 
and this was the only meal eaten during the day : for at night, when 
the camp was made, the men were so exhausted that sleep triumph- 
ed over hunger, and those off duty, flinging themselves on the ground, 
were immediately lost in slumber. More than once the rear-guard 
of Williams and the advance of Cornwalhs approached within mus- 



NATHANAEL GREENE. 4 35 

ket shot, and it was with extreme difficulty that the respective com- 
manders could restrain their troops from engaging. But the British 
General wished to reserve himself for the last struggle, which he was 
confident was close at hand ; and Williams was unwilling to strike 
until he could give some terrible blow. Thus four days passed. At 
last Williams, thinking that sufficient time had elapsed for Greene to 
reach and cross the Dan, cautiously drew off his men in the direction 
of the lower ferries. On the same day Cornwallis learned, for the 
first time, the trick played upon him, and hastily crossing into the 
proper road, found himself, on a sudden, once more in the rear of the 
light troops. 

And now ensued a closing struggle, the parallel to which is scarcely 
to be found in history. On the one side Cornwallis, chafed by his in- 
cessant repulses, resolved to revenge himself and exterminate the little 
band before him ; on the other hand Williams, knowing that the 
race was for life or death, strained every muscle to effect his escape. 
The night came, chill and damp ; the roads were broken and deep ; 
and the men, worn down by a month's marching, staggered feebly 
on. In vain they hoped that Cornwallis would halt ; still onward 
he stretched through that gloomy night. The darkness increased ; 
the rain began to fall ; and the way grew more difficult ; yet still the 
sullen tramp of the enemy was heard in pursuit, and still the Ameri- 
cans toiled on. At last the gleam of watch-fires was seen in the dis- 
tance ahead, and at the sight, Williams, fearing that Greene had not 
escaped, resolved to offer himself up, with his heroic corps, to save 
the main army ; but happily it was discovered in time that what he 
saw was only the embers of the camp, and that the Americans were 
far in the advance, sweeping onward through the gloom and rain. Fi- 
nally the British halted, and then Williams gave his men a few 
hours respite. But at midnight the troops were roused and the re- 
treat recommenced. Nor was it long before Cornwallis was also in 
motion. He still hoped to find Greene cooped up between him and 
the Dan, for want of boats to cross. But he knew that everything 
depended on speed. Forty miles only lay between him and the river, 
and this distance he was resolved to traverse, if possible, before he 
allowed his troops repose. Williams was equally aware of the value- 
of the next twenty-four hours. Mile vanished after mile, hour suc- 
ceeded hour, and as the goal drew nearer, the struggle became more 
close and fierce. The usual time was scarcely allowed for refresh- 
ment, and then the Americans resumed their hurried march. The 
strife now grew thrillingly interesting. All through the hours of that 
long, dark night ; all through the early portion of that wintry morn- 



436 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

iug ; over roads at first slippery and frozen, but now thawed and 
yielding, the one army had fled, and the other pursued ; and as the 
Americans hastily swallowed their frugal breakfast, they fancied they 
heard again the tread of the foe, and resuming their ranks, taxed 
their sinews again in a last desperate strain to reach the goal. 

Noon at last arrived, and with it an express announcing the safety 
of Greene. The joyful intelligence passed along the line, and the 
soldiers, re-invigorated, pushed forward with renewed alacrity. The 
infantry of Williams went first, then followed the legion of Lee. By 
three o'clock the river was only fourteen miles distant. The infan- 
try now turned oft' by the shortest route, and hastening to the ferry, 
were borne in safety across. Cornwallis, finding himself approach- 
ing the Dan, and seeing no signs of Greene, began to suspect the 
truth, and redoubled his exertions to overtake the rear-guard, vow- 
ing angrily to sacrifice it to his vengeance. But Lee, no longer 
caring to watch the foe, bent every etfort only to gain the ferry. The 
boats which carried Williams across had scarcely returned when the 
legionaries stood on the bank. The men instantly leaped in and took 
their seats ; the horses were led by the bridles and made to swim ; and 
the last of the fugitives finally left the shore. The night, by this time, 
was beginning to fall ; the river surged dark beneath ; and only a 
few stars glimmered through the stormy rack of heaven. All was 
desolate and forbidding in the landscape — yet not all, for on the fur- 
ther bank of the Dan gleamed welcome watch fires, and there stood 
Greene and Williams waiting to receive their companions in arms! 
When the boats touched the bank, and the legions had safely landed, 
a shout went up from the assembled host that shook the forests around 
and echoed far down the sky. As Lee stepped on shore he rushed 
into the arms of Williams ; then looking back across the turbid wa- 
ters, he saw the shadowy forms of his pursuers just emerging on the 
other bank. But he had escaped, and the Carolinas were free ! 

Greene did not, however, remain long in Virginia. Having re- 
ceived a reinforcement, he crossed the Dan again, within a few days, 
and began that series of masterly manoeuvres which led to the bat- 
tle of Guilford Court-House. After tliis sanguinary struggle, Corn- 
wallis determined to invade Virginia ; for he already found himself 
in a dilemma in consequence of having been led so far away from 
his base. Greene immediately conceived the bold plan of returning 
into the Carolinas. He accordingly retraced the route over which he 
had so lately retreated. At the news of his approach, consternation 
seized the tories and even the royal troops. Lord Rawdon, as the 



NATHANAEL GREENE. 437 

last hope, resolved to attack him, and the battle of Hobkirk's 
Hill ensued, in which Greene met a repulse. But the check did not 
amount to a positive defeat, and in a few days, the American army 
being again ready for combat, Rawdon considered it advisable to 
abandon the vicinity of Camden and retire towards Charleston. The 
operations against Ninety-Six followed. Having spent the hottest of 
the summer months in the salubrious heights of Santee, Greene ad- 
vanced, in the beginning of September, to the lower country, resolv- 
ing to employ his forces in expelling the British from the few towns 
they still occupied in South Carolina. As the Americans advanced, 
the royalists retired. At Eutaw Springs the enemy halted and en- 
trenched themselves. Greene followed them up, and on the 8th of 
September, 1781, attacked them. The battle was, perhaps, the 
fiercest of the whole war : one-third of the American army being left 
upon the field ; while the royal troops suflered even more. 

The British, on this bloody day, were commanded by General 
Stewart. They numbered in all two thousand three hundred men, 
a force rather superior to that of the Americans. They were drawn 
up with great skill in a highly advantageous position. Greene set 
his army in motion for the attack about an hour after daybreak. 
The sky was cloudless, and the road lying through an open wood, 
where the dew had scarcely yet dried on the blades of grass, the 
troops were invigorated, rather than fatigued by their march of a few 
hours. When about four miles from Eutaw, the advance of the 
Americans came into collision with a detachment of the British, sent 
out to reconnoitre. The enemy broke and fled. The Americans, 
with Lee in the front, followed up their victory, and arriving at the 
little river at Eutaw, beheld the main body of the enemy drawn up 
in a single line within the border of a wood, the right resting on the 
Charleston road, but the left wholly unprotected. The American 
militia, led by Marion and Pickens, moved in the advance, with the 
artillery of Gaines. The fight immediately became furious. The 
militia, behaving with the intrepidity of veterans, stood unmoved 
before the British fire, while unremitting streams of musketry poured 
from flank to flank along the American line. The enemy, aston- 
ished to find raw troops so stubborn, increased his efforts to break 
their line. His artillery soon dismounted the two pieces of Gaines, 
though not until the American battery had dismounted one of 
the guns of the enemy. At last, after they had delivered seventeen 
rounds a man, the militia in the centre began to retire. Greene 
promptly hurried up the corps of Sumter to fill the chasm. The 



438 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

battle was now renewed with more obstinacy than ever. The 
British General, trembhng for the fate of the day, brought up his 
reserves at this crisis, and the next half hour witnessed the most 
superhuman exertions on his part and that of his troops to achieve 
a victory. At last, after a desperate struggle, the centre of the 
Americans again gave way ; and the British, seeing this, pressed 
forward with loud shouts, and with such ardor that their line became 
disordered. This was the critical moment for which Greene had 
waited. Bringing up the tried battalions of Williams and Howard, 
which he had reserved for the crisis, he ordered them to advance with 
trailed arms, and, retaining their fire, sweep the field with the bayonet. 

It would have warmed the coldest bosom to have Avitnessed that 
gallant charge, and the equally gallant manner in which, for a while, 
the enemy withstood it. Howard came splendidly to the encounter ! 
For a few moments while he advanced the air rung with huzzas from the 
contending armies. Showers of bullets from the enemy rapidly thinned 
the ranks of the brave Marylanders ; but still they pressed on, not a 
Tian pulling a trigger until they were within a few paces of the 
hostile line. At sight of that unshaken front the British regiments 
began to give way, the panic beginning at the left and extending to 
the centre. But here a crack corps, the Bluffs, was posted, which, 
instead of shrinking from the bayonet, came resolutely to the charge. 
With loud shouts the two parties met in full career. Some fell at 
once pierced to the heart. Others, losing their footing, tumbled 
headlong and were instantly trodden down. The bayonets of both 
sides speedily becoming interlocked, the combatants swayed to and 
fro, like a mass of foliage tossed by contending winds. At last the 
British line broke. Seeing this, Howard sprang to the front and 
ordered his brave Marylanders to pour in their fire, on which the 
enemy fled in confusion, the Americans sweeping in a solid mass 
after them, like a wave of glittering steel. So utter was the rout 
that many of the royal soldiers did not pause in their flight until they 
reached Charleston, where such tales of the prowess and numbers of 
the Americans were told, that every able bodied man was impressed 
to defend the capital in this its last extremity. 

But, during the pursuit, the Americans had reached the camp 
of the enemy, where the tents were still standing and the stores 
lying invitingly in view. Most of the militia hastened to avail 
themselves of the unusual luxuries. But the legion of Lee still 
pressed on, in hot chase of a detachment which was straining to 
gain a brick house, defended in the rear by a garden with palisades, 



NATHANAEL GREENE. 439 

and on the right by a ravme and thicket, rendered impassable by 
low, craggy shrubs. The enemy reached the entrance first, and 
rushed in ; yet so close was Lee upon him, that one of his men got 
half way within the door, and for a moment there was a sharp 
struggle, his companions endeavoring to push him in, and the British 
to thrust him out. At last the enemy prevailed, though several of 
his own men and officers were excluded. A heavy fire was in- 
stantly opened from the upper windows, on which the assailants, 
holding their prisoners before them, retreated. Meantime the Bri- 
tish left, which had been posted in a thicket, under Major Majori- 
banks, had, until this period, resisted every effort to dislodge it. The 
troop of Washington, which had been led up to charge it, was 
completely shattered, with the loss of every officer but two, Wash- 
ington himself having his horse shot under him, and being made a 
prisoner. But now, the rest of the line having retreated, Majori- 
banks became exposed on the flank, and fell back slowly towards 
the house, still clinging to the cover of the woods and ravine. 

Here, resting on the picketed garden, he took a new position. On 
the right, the British cavalry under Coffin had drawn up in an open 
field to the west of the Charleston road. Thus supported on both 
flanks, and protected by the fire from the house, Stewart rallied his 
broken regiments and stubbornly prepared to contest the day anew. 
Greene^ hastening to complete his victory, had brought up his artil- 
lery to batter the house, but the pieces proved too light to make any 
impression on the walls; while the rattling volleys that blazed 
unceasingly from the windows soon smote down every man at the 
guns. At this instant, and while some of the militia were still in 
the tents, Coffin charged with his cavalry, while Majoribanks on the 
other flank advanced with his brave veterans. In vain the Ameri- 
can horse dashed forward to repulse the assailants ; though successful 
for a while, the tremendous fire of Majoribanks checked them at 
last ; and then, perceiving his advantage, the enemy sprang forward, 
seized the artillery, and driving wildly on, swept up and regained 
his camp. This being done, and the last scattered Americans chased 
from the tents or made prisoners, the British formed their line and 
prepared to renew the battle. 

But Greene, appalled by the slaughter that had already taken 
place, and satisfied that his enemy had received a blow that would 
force him to retreat, wisely declined renewing the strife. He had 
attacked Stewart, because the latter had intended to establish a post 
at Eutaw, and now that this purpose would be abandoned, there 



440 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

was no longer any object to be gained by protracting the battle, of 
sufficient importance to compensate for the loss of life. The wisdom 
of Greene was shown in this decision. Many a General, excited 
by the struggle, or smarting under the imputation of having received 
a check, would have returned to the contest and uselessly sacrificed 
hundreds of lives. But Greene never lost his self-possession on the 
field of battle, never allowed his judgment to be affected by its 
excitement. He saw that he had gained his purpose, and he 
decided to retreat. He fell back, however, no farther than to the 
spot from which he had started in the morning. And he would 
probably not have done this, but retained his position on the field, 
but for the impossibility of its furnishing sufficient water for his 
thirsty and fainting men. 

The loss of Greene, in this battle, was five hundred and fifty-five, 
rank and file, or nearly one-third of his whole army. Of this num- 
ber one hundred and thirty had been killed on the field, including 
seventeen commissioned officers. The British suffered not less 
severely. It was a sad task, on that day, for the American com- 
mander to visit his wounded. When he entered the miserable hovel 
where the officers of Washington's mutilated corps lay, and be- 
held those gallant young men, some of whom were destined never 
to rise from their beds, his feelings gave way, and he exclaimed in 
a choking voice, " It was a trying duty imposed on you, but it was 
unavoidable : I could not help it !" Those brave men, however, 
lived to hear that their blood had not been shed in vain ; for, on that 
very night, Stewart, destroying his stores and abandoning about 
seventy of his wounded, hurriedly retreated to Charleston. For this 
victory, as it has always been regarded. Congress voted Greene a 
conquered standard and a medal of gold. 

During this battle an incident occurred, so poetical in its character, 
that but for the most unimpeachable testimony in favor of its truth, 
we should hesitate to be the first to place it in print. After the 
repulse of the British, one of Lee's legion galloped to the enemy's 
camp, intending to set it on fire, and by a spectacle so disheartening 
to the foe, complete his rout. Alighting and snatching up a brand, 
he drew aside the canvass of a tent, in order to apply the fire to the 
straw within. But a sight there met his eyes which made him 
draw back irresolute. A wounded soldier lay on the rude pallet, 
and by his side sat a woman, wringing her hands and weeping bit- 
terly as she gazed down on the face of the dying man. She looked 
up an instant at the intruder, with a glance of mute entreaty, while 



NATHANAEL GREENE. 441 

the tears rolled down her cheeks. The American hesitated. If I 
set fire to the camp, he thought, this poor woman must see her hus- 
band consume before her eyes : and others, perhaps, will perish as 
miserably. I may reduce the enemy to as great straits as ourselves, 
but will that assist in terminating the war ? At this consideratiori 
he dropped the canvass, flung down his brand, and left the camp. 
The hero of this little incident still lives, almost the solitary survivor 
of that bloody day. From his lips we have heard that, after the bat- 
tle was over, the British and American soldiers were frequently 
found lying side by side, transfixed with each others bayonets. 
Where the American artillery had been posted, there now remain- 
ed only the dismembered cannon. An oak sapling, about eight 
inches in diameter, stood close by this battery ; and the trunk of this 
tree showed, within ten feet from the ground, twenty-eight marks of 
balls. 

In the beginning of the year 1782, the House of Representatives 
of South Carolina bestowed on Greene the sum of ten thousand gui- 
neas, " in consideration of his important services." He was now, 
indeed, universally regarded as the saviour of the south. He had 
braken up all the enemy's posts in the interior, and confined him to 
a small circle in the vicinity of Charleston. The people, so lately 
despondent, were now full of hope. The tories were overawed. 
The royal troops themselves were giving way to despair. All par- 
ties saw that the evacuation of the southern capital must speedily 
occur, unless Great Britain was disposed to begin again the attempt 
at conquest, now foiled after eight years of war. At last, on the 
14th of December, Charleston was evacuated. Greene entered the 
town amid the acclamations of the inhabitants. Governor Rutledge 
riding at his side, and a brilliant cortage of ofiicers and guards ac- 
companying him. Every door, balcony and window was crowded. 
Tearsof joy were shed freely, and the cry, " God bless you ! — wel- 
come home, gentlemen," broke from many a surcharged heart. 

Greene did not long survive the war. His last days, too, were em- 
bittered by financial difliculties, arising out of some bills he had be- 
come liable for, in order to purchase stores at a critical period in his 
last campaign. But his country was not ungrateful. South Carohna, 
as we have seen, had voted him ten thousand guineas, and Georgia 
presented him with a handsome estate. He removed his family 
from Rhode Island to Charleston, in 1785, intending there to spend 
the remainder of his days ; but these were destined to be of short 
duration. On Tuesday, the 13th of June, 1786, while on a visit to 

51 



442 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



a neighbor, he walked out to see a rice crop, the sun, at the time, 
being intensely hot. A headache was the consequence, followed by 
a violent fever and inflammation of the brain : and by Monday, the 
15th, he was a corpse. His death was considered a public misfor- 
tune, and the inhabitants of Savannah, where he was interred, joined 
unanimously in paying the last tribute to his remains. Thus, at the 
age of forty-four, perished the second General of the Revolution ! 





, WD [L[LQ/^ 



6^^^-^^/ 




OTHO H. WILLIAMS 




ONSPICUOUS among 
the heroes of the Revo- 
huion was Otho Hol- 
land Williams, a Briga- 
dier-General in the 
continental line. He 
was born in Prince 
George county, Md., in 
the year 1748. His 
abilities were of a high 
order. He was saga- 
cious in counsel, syste- 
"i:;^ matic in camp and in 
battle brave as a lion, 
yet perfectly self-pos- 
sessed. Few men were purer in their patriotism. He served his coun- 
try, not for emolument or rank, but from a consciousness of duty 
alone. In morals he was rigid, like his great chief, evincing his dis- 
like of wrong even with asperity. He scorned hypocrisy and the low 
arts of intrigue, nor would he ever depreciate others in order to ex- 
alt himself. 

Williams was at the head of the clerk's office of the county of 

443 



444 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

Baltimore, when the war of independence began, but he immediate- 
ly abandoned his emoluments, and accepting a Lieutenant's commis- 
sion in a rifle corps, marched to join the army at Boston. In 1776 
a rifle regiment was formed, of which he was appointed Major. He 
was present in Fort Washington when the assault of that place oc- 
curred ; and it was his regiment which so gallantly met the Hessian 
column, and had nearly repulsed it. But Fort Washington fell, and 
Williams became a prisoner. He was now subjected to all those 
horrors which the captives, at that early period suttered, and which 
have made the name of Sir William Howe execrable wherever hu- 
manity has advocates. The seeds of the fatal disease, which subse- 
quently carried off" Williams, were sown during this imprisonment. 
At last, after the surrender of Burgoyne, he was exchanged for Ma- 
jor Ackland; and, rejoining the army, found he had risen in due 
course of promotion to the rank of a Colonel. 

Williams accompanied De Kalb to the Carolinas. When Gates 
succeeded to the command, he bestowed onColonel Williams the post 
of Adjutant General, an honor which was continued to him, with 
the most flattering acknowledgements, by Greene. He was in the 
battles of Camden, Guilford, Hobkirk and Eutaw. During Greene's 
famous retreat across North Carolina, Williams commanded the light 
troops which covered his rear. What Ney was to Napoleon in retir- 
ing from Russia, that Williams was to Greene in this emergen- 
cy! Never was a General-in-chief better seconded by any merely 
executive officer. When Greene re-crossed the Dan, Williams was 
conspicuous in the manoeuvres that ensued. Cornwallis had 
resolved to force the American commander either to fight at a 
disadvantage or retreat; but, the latter, determining to do neither, 
changed his camp daily, now advancing and now falling back, until 
the English General, lost in a maze of perplexity, knew not where 
to find him. Subsequently at the battle of Guilford, and afterwards 
at Eutaw, Williams highly distinguished himself. In the latter con- 
test he headed the charge which was so decisive. 

On the return of peace, Williams, who had been raised, meantime, 
to the rank of a Brigadier, retired to his native state, where the col- 
lectorship of the port of Baltimore, the most lucrative office in Mary- 
land, was bestowed on him by the authorities as a token of the ap- 
preciation of his services. Washington, on acceding to the Presi- 
dency, continued Williams in this post. In 1794 Williams died of 
pulmonary consumption. His wife, whom he had married just be- 
fore, soon followed him to the grave, her days being shortened, it is 
said, by grief for her loss. 




FRANCIS MARION 




HERE are fewAme- 
3j; rican readers, to 
wliom the name of 
Marion is not a spell. 
It conjures up images 
of the forest camp, 
the moonlight march, 
the sudden attack, 
and all the romance 
of that daring war- 
fare which fascinated 
us when a boy ! In 
the popular fancy 
Marion holds the 
place of a great 
champion, not nnlike 
King Arthur, in English legendary story. Yet there was nothing 
chivalric, in the ordinary sense of that term, about the south- 

NN 4-45 



446 THK HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

ern hero. His personal prowess was inconsiderable. He never 
slew a man in single combat. He was small in statnre, hard 
in manners, cautions, scheming and taciturn. No act of knightly 
emprize is recorded of him. But his achievements were so brilliant 
— they were performed with such apparently inadequate means — 
they followed each other in such rapid succession — and they were 
begun in so disastrous a period, and exercised so astonishing an in- 
fluence in arousing the south, that we gaze on his career as on that 
of some Paladin of old, suddenly raised up by enchantment, to dis- 
comfit all comers with his single arm. 

Marion was of Huguenot descent. He was born in 1732, near 
Georgetown, in South Carolina. His youth was spent chietly on a 
farm, except during one short interval, when he went to sea. On 
this occasion he came near losing his life by drowning. When he 
returned, at his mother's anxious solicitation, he took up the pursuit 
of agriculture. The restless spirit of his boyhood appeared to have 
been now totally subdued. Ambition seemed no longer a part of 
his nature. He followed the quiet life of men of his class, and was 
respected, beloved and honored. No one fancied that the name of 
Francis Marion would ever become great in history. 

The Indian war of 1760 found him in this condition. The Chero- 
kees, on the western frontier of the Carolinas, had long been trouble- 
some neighbors. They inhabited a luxuriant district, partly in the 
lower country and partly in the hilly region to the west. Their 
villages were well built, their corn-fields in high cultivation. They 
were a bold and turbulent nation, always doubtful allies, ever ready 
to lift the tomahawk at the slightest provocation. On the present 
occasion they had taken up arms at the instigation of the French. 
As the only means of ensuring tranquillity in future, it was deter- 
mined to break the heart of this proud people by penetrating to their 
most impregnable fastnesses, and laying the whole district waste 
with fire and sword. A strong force from the Canadas was de- 
spatched for this purpose to South Carolina. Marion joined the 
army as a Lieutenant, and now first distinguished himself. After all 
the lower country had been devastated, the troops advanced to the 
higher grounds. But at the famous pass of Etchoee, a narrow val- 
ley between high hills, the bravest of the Cherokees had made a 
stand, resolved, with a spirit worthy of old Rome, to shed the last 
drop of their blood on this threshold of their nation. They occupied 
a strong position on the flank of the invading army. Before any 
progress could be made it became necessary to dislodge them, and a 
.arge corps was sent in advance for this purpose, preceded by a for 



FRANCIS MARION. 447 

lorn hope of thirty men. The command of this latter party was 
given to Marion. Their ascent was through a gloomy defile, flanked 
by impenetrable thickets, the very lurking places for a savage foe. 
Yet that gallant band went steadily forward, their leader marching 
in the van ! As the head of the column entered the defile, a savage 
yell was heard, as if from every bush around, and immediately a 
hundred muskets blazed on the assailants. Twenty-one of the for- 
lorn hope fell. But their leader was unhurt. Waving his sword, 
he called on the few that remained to follow him, and dashed up the 
ascent : he was soon reinforced by the advanced corps, which, stim- 
ulated by such heroism, followed close behind. The contest that 
ensued is to this hour spoken of with awe by the miserable remnant 
of that people. Never, perhaps, in the annals of Indian war was 
the carnage greater. For four hours the fight raged without inter- 
mission. The savages fought like men who cared not to survive a 
defeat. Driven by the bayonet again and again from their positions, 
they returned, Hke wounded lions, fiercer with agony and despair. 
But their heroism was of no avail. Discipline at length triumphed 
over untaught bravery. The Cherokees fled. Nor did they ever 
after rally. And for thirty days, the fire-brand and the bayonet 
went through their beautiful vallies, making once happy villages 
heaps of ruins, and reducing the whole district to a blackened and 
smoking desert. This work of devastation smote the heart of Marion 
with pity. In a letter attributed to him, his feelings are described 
with picturesque force. " I saw everywhere around," he writes, 
" the footsteps of the little Indian children, where they had lately 
played under the shelter of the rustling corn. When we are gone, 
thought I, they will return, and peeping through the woods with 
tearful eyes, will mark the ghastly ruin poured over their homes, 
and the happy fields where they had so often played. ' Who did 
this ? ' they will ask their mothers. < The white people, the Christians 
did it !' will be their reply." Whether Marion wrote this letter, or, 
which is more probable, Weems invented it, the sentiments are 
characteristic of that tenderness of heart, which, notwithstanding 
Marion's firmness and decision, was one of his most prominent 
qualities. 

For fourteen years after this campaign Marion was occupied on 
his farm. But he had acquired a reputation for skill and spirit 
during the Indian troubles, which was not forgotten, and subse- 
quently, when the storm of war began to darken the horizon, men 
turned to Marion with anxiety, as mariners to the veteran pilot. In 
1775, he was a member in the Provincial Congress of South Caro- 



448 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

Una, and was among the most active in procuring the vote commit- 
ting that colony to the Revolution. It was during a partial adjourn- 
ment of this body that the news of the battle of Lexington reached 
Charleston by express. Instantly the chivalric Carolinians took fire. 
The Congress was called together. Public spirit ran high. Two regi- 
ments of infantry and one of cavalry were raised; a million of 
money was voted ; and an act of association was passed, by which all 
persons were declared enemies of the state who should refuse to join 
in resisting by force of arms the aggressions of the King. 

In one of the new regiments Marion received a Major's commis- 
sion. His Colonel was the celebrated Moultrie. He proved him- 
self an excellent disciplinarian, and the superiority of the regiment 
was, on all hands, attributed to his skill. During the attack on Sul- 
livan's Island, he was actively occupied in the fort, except when, 
with a small detachment, he boarded the armed schooner Defence, 
to obtain powder. For his services on this occasion, he was raised 
by Congress to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel in the regular army. 
For the next three years, the war languished in the south ; but m 
1779, when the British invaded Georgia, Marion re-appears upon 
the scene. He was only prevented from being captured in Charles- 
ton on the fall of that place, by having broken an ankle : a misfor- 
tune which compelled him to leave the city when, just before the 
siege, all sick persons and officers unfit for duty were ordered to de- 
part. The manner in which this accident occurred is characteristic. 
Marion was dining with some friends, when the drinking became 
deep, and the host, to prevent the escape of any one, locked the 
door : on which Marion, who was habitually temperate, leaped 
from the window and fractured his ankle. 

Charleston fell. Four thousand men — all the available force at 
the south — came into the hands of the enemy ; and organized resist- 
ance in South Carolina was at an end. Then the seven vials of 
wrath were opened on that devoted colony. Deceit was added to 
cruelty ; and the miserable inhabitants, seduced by fair promises 
into swearing allegiance, soon learned that there is no refuge for the 
conquered, but in unmitigated and hopeless slavery. They had at 
first been asked only to remain quiet. They were now told that 
neutrality was impossible, and that they must either take up arms 
for the King or be punished as rebels. In vain they remonstrated, 
in vain they entreated : their masters were inexorable. One or two 
districts at length ventured to resist. It had been better for their 
inhabitants it they had never been born. Old men and immature 
boys were hung up without trial, and females of tender nurture 



FRANCIS MARION. 449 

brutally thrust from the doors which had been kept sacred to them 
since they were brides. The land was ravaged as no other had 
been since the Conqueror desolated the New Forest. One region, 
seventy miles long and fifteen broad, through which the British army 
passed, became a desert. A wife who asked to see her husband in 
prison was told to wait, and her request should soon be granted ; 
they left her, and returning with a brutal jest, pointed to their victim, 
suspended from the jail window, and yet quivering in the agonies 
of death. But God at last raised up an avenger ! Suddenly, in the 
very heart of the oppressed districts, there arose an enemy ; bitter, 
sleepless, unforgetful ; seemingly possessed of miraculous powers 
of intelligence ; whose motions were quick as lightning ; who dealt 
blows successively at points where no human foresight could have 
foreseen them ; and who, by a series of rapid and brilliant successes, 
made the British power tremble from centre to circumference. Tiie 
secret of this was soon noised abroad. Marion had recovered, had 
raised a troop, had began the war again on his own account. His 
name became a terror to the foe, and a rallying word for the patri- 
ots. Wherever a surprise took place — wherever a convoy was cut 
off — wherever a gallant deed was done, men said that Marion had 
been there. And the aged widow, who had seen her bravest sons 
dragged to the shambles, gave thanks nightly to God that a defend- 
er had arisen for Israel. 

We can at this day have but a faint idea of the re-action that fol- 
lowed the successes of Marion. It was like the first feeling of hope 
after a shipwreck, in which every plank has gone down beneath us. 
It was like the cheering word of pardon to the criminal on the scaf- 
fold. Instantly, the colony rose from its sackcloth and ashes. It put 
off its garments of humiliation ; it assumed the sword ; it went foi th 
to battle rejoicingly. In every direction around the British posts, men 
suddenly appeared in arms. They had no weapons ; but the huge saws 
of the timber-mills were fabricated into sabres. They had no camp 
equipage ; but Marion slept on a forest couch, and so could they. They 
flocked to him in crowds. Mounted on fleet horses, they traversed the 
country under him, often marching sixty miles between sundown and 
daybreak, striking blows now here, now there, until the perplexed ene- 
my scarcely knew which way to turn, and began to regard, with name- 
less fear, this mysterious foe, who, if followed, could never be caught, 
but who was always at hand, with his terrible shout and charge, 
when least expected. 

The favorite rendezvous of Marion was at Snow Island. This is 
a piece of high river swamp, as it is called in the Carolinas, and was 

57 NN* 



450 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

surrounded on three sides by water, so as to be almost impregnable 
He rendered it more so by destroying the bridges, securing the boats, 
and placing defences where they were required. The island, thus 
cut olf from the mainland, was of some extent, and abounded with 
game. No one unacquainted with its labyrinths could have well 
found his way among its tortuous paths, overgrown with a luxuri- 
ant tropical vegetation and tangled with vines. Here Marion had 
his camp. From this fastness he issued forth at pleasure to ravage 
the enemy's granaries or capture a straggling party of his troops. 
Secure in his retreat he had no fear of pursuit. The imagination 
icindles at the picture of that greenwood camp, and we are carried 
back to the days of old romance, when Robin Hood held court in Sher- 
wood Forest. There, with the laurel blooming over them, his bold 
followers slept as sweetly as under canopies of silk ; there, with the 
free, blue sky for their tent, they felt that liberty was theirs, in 
defiance of the British arms ; there, while the stars kept watch 
above, they dreamed of peace, and happiness, and plenty, yet to come, 
of pleasant homes and smiling wives, and of children prattling at 
their knee ! 

For carrying on a partizan warfare, such as now ensued, Marion 
was ])eculiarly fitted. Governor Rutledge had given him a commis- 
sion as Brigadier-General in the militia ; and no man miderstood bet- 
ter how to manage a volunteer force. His maxim was "feed higli 
and then attack." When in the open field he never required his 
men to wait for a bayonet charge ; but after they had deliv- 
ered their fire, he ordered them to fall back under cover. By 
these means he kept them self-collected and confident ; and in 
consequence we know of but one instance of their having become 
panic-struck. The celerity of his movements supplied the place of 
numbers. His genius defied the want of arms, ammunition, and all 
the material of war. He was wary, scheming, clear-sighted, bold, 
rapid, energetic. No man but one possessing such a rare union of 
qualities could have made head against the British power after the 
defeat of Gates. At times, indeed, he suffered from despondency. 
Once he talked, despairingly, of retiring to the mountains. But no 
mind can be always on the rack, without giving way occasionally 
to the strain. To be melancholy at times, is the destiny of lofty na- 
tures, and few have achieved greatness without feeling often as if 
hfe were a burden gladly to be laid down. 

The war was conducted with savage ferocity. The tories hung 
their prisoners, the whigs retaliated on the tories. The British burn- 
ed the dwellings of the patriots, pillaged their barns, ravaged their 



FRANCIS MARION. 451 

fields, and set free their negroes. The Americans shot down senti- 
nels at their posts, cut off picquets, and laid ambuscades for officers. 
Neither party for a while paid much respect to flags. Private re- 
venge entered deeply into the contest. At the taking of Georgetown 
Lieutenant Conyer sought out and murdered an English officer, from 
whom he had once suffered an indignity. A serjeant, whose private 
baggage had been captin*ed, sent word to the British leader that, if 
it was not returned, he would kill eight of his men ; and the plunder 
was given up, for it was known he would keep his word. The same 
man shot at an English officer at a distance of three hundred yards. 
Yet there were occasional glimpses of chivalry shown on both sides. 
When Colonel Watson garrisoned Blakely's mansion, it was the resi- 
dence of a young lady whose lover belonged to the American force, 
which at that time, partially beleaguered the Englishmen ; and every 
day the fiery youth, like a knight of old, either singly or at the head 
of his troop, rode up to the hostile lines, and in sight of his mistress, 
defied the foe to mortal combat. Among the British officers. Major 
Macintosh became distinguished as the most humane. But the gene- 
ral character of the contest was such, that those who had been ac- 
customed to the comparative courtesy of European strife, declared 
that the Americans fought like devils rather than like men. Greene 
himself wrote back to the north, that the war was one of butchery. 
But we doubt whether it could have been waged successfully in any 
other way. When a foreign invader has given your roof-tree to the 
tlames, and driven you forth to herd with wild beasts, it is an instinct 
of human nature to slay him wherever he appears, to assail him 
in darkness, to " war"" even to the knife." The want of num- 
bers must be supplied by incessant watchfulness. It may do for 
kings playing at the game of war to talk of conducting it politely, 
but men fighting with a rope aroimd their necks are not apt to be 
over nice. 

It would be impossible, in a sketch like this, to follow Marion 
through all his enterprises. He planned, with Lee, the surprise of 
Georgetown, which an accident only prevented being completely 
successful ; he defeated the tories at Black Mingo and at Tarcote ; 
he captured Forts Watson and Motte ; he made a second and victo- 
rious attack on Georgetown ; he nearly annihilated General Frazier's 
cavalry at Parker's Ferry ; he scattered the English horse at St. 
Thomas ; and, to the very close of the war, continued striking that 
series of sudden and decisive blows which made his name a terror to 
the foe, and which, in subsequent times, renders his career so bril- 
liant and fascinating. We can pause on one only of his numerous 



452 THE HKROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

achievements. This was the deadly ambush a,t Parker's Ferry. It 
was just before the struggle at Eutaw that it occurred. Greene 
and the British General were silently watching each other, when 
Marion suddenly set forth from the American camp, with two hun- 
dred picked men, on one of his many secret expeditions. Not even 
his oflicers knew the purpose of his march. His object, however, 
was to relieve Colonel Harden, at that time hard pressed by a British 
force of five hundred men. After traversing the country for a hun- 
dred miles, Marion came up with the Colonel. The enemy was 
close at hand, thundering in pursuit. The Americans, thus reinf irced, 
were hastily concealed in a swamp, and a small party sent out to lure 
the English into the ambuscade. The stratagem succeeded. Imagining 
he had no one to contend with but Colonel Harden, the British leader 
led his cavalry at full charge almost up to the muzzles of the conceal- 
ed riflemen. But when the deadly fire of the American sharp-shoot- 
ers opened on him, the enemy recoiled in horror and dismay from 
that incessant torrent of missiles. Yet soon, with unfaltering bravery 
he rallied, and dashed again to the charge. A second time he was 
hurled back. And now began a fearful carnage. Hemmed in on 
the narrow causeway, unable either to advance or retreat, that gal- 
lant cavalry was fast melting away beneath Marion's fire, when the 
ammunition of the Americans gave out and they were forced to yield 
their ground. But so horrible had been the slaughter, that, at the 
battle of Eutaw, the enemy had scarcely a single troop of horse left 
to bring into the field. 

Marion continued with his brigade until after the evacuation of 
Charleston, when he retired to his farm, which he found a scene of 
ruins. He now resolved to apply himself seriously to agriculture, in 
hopes to repair his shattered fortunes. But his native state claiming 
his services, he was first a Senator to the Legislature, and afterwards 
military commandant at Fort Johnson in the harbor of Charleston. 
In his senatorial capacity he opposed the continuance of the Confis- 
cation Act, wishing, now that peace had been gained, to forget and 
forgive all political delinquencies. He married a lady of wealth, but 
had no issue. He died on the 20th of February, 1795, in the sixty- 
third year of his age. 




SC7MPTEH S ASSAULT ON THE BRITISH AT ROCKY MOUNT. 



THOMAS SUMPTER. 



-r-? UMPTER and Marion are names 
V^ indissolubly connected in the memo- 
ry with all that was gallant and suc- 
cessful in the parti zan warfare of 
the south. Both were leaders in the 
militia, both obtained signal victo- 
ries, and both were possessed of a 
superior genius for war. Yet, per- 
haps, no two men ever differed 
more in character. Marion was 
cautious, scheming, careful of his troops ; Sumpter bold, rash, and 
often prodigal of his men. The one could never be induced to fight 
unless nearly certain of success : the other was always ready for the 
contest, even when wisdom counselled a retreat. In the one pru- 
dence amounted almost to a foible ; in the other daring sometimes 
degenerated to folly. The difference between the two men is well 
described in the remark which Tarleton is said to have made 
respecting them, at the end of an unsuccessful pursuit of Marion : 

453 




4,54 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

" let US leave this d — d swamp-fox," said the irritated Colonel, " and 
seek Sumpter ; he is a game cock always ready for a fight." 

Sumpter was born in Virginia, in the year 1734. While still a 
youth, his activity and intelligence in scouting recommended him to 
the notice of Lord Dunmore, who is said to have employed him on 
the frontier in a trust of equal hazard and importance. He was pre- 
sent at the battle of Monongahela, where he was so fortunate as to 
escape without a wound. At the close of the war he removed to 
South Carolina. He speedily acquired a commanding influence in 
the district where he settled; and in consequence, in March, 1776, 
was recommended to the Provisional Congress for the post of Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel of the second regiment of riflemen. In this com- 
mand he continued for some years, bat without any opportu- 
nity of distinguishing himself The war in fact languished at the 
south, and his regiment was confined to overawing the tories. At 
last, in 1780, Charleston fell. The patriots generally fled hi dismay. 
Not so Sumpter. He had seen his wife driven from her dwelling, 
and the torch applied to the habitation, while the enemy, like sav- 
age bloodhounds, hunted around the swamp whither he had fled for 
concealment. Hidden in that covert he had sworn to avenge his 
own and his country's wrongs. Nobly did he keep his vow ! 

Aware that little could be done as yet in liis adopted state, he pass- 
ed into North Carolina, and visiting the patriot settlements, urged 
a rising against the British. At first those whom he addressed, 
appalled by the conquest of Charleston, hesitated. But his eloquence, 
his lofty enthusiasm, and his bold decision of character finally 
prevailed, and it was not long before he found himself at the head of 
a considerable force. An anecdote is preserved of the manner in 
which he obtained his famous soubriquet ; and as it also illustrates 
his tact in enlisting recruits, we insert it as characteristic. There 
was a family of Gillespies, all large and active men, all celebrated 
for their love of cock-fighting. They had in their possession, among 
other game birds, a blue hen, renowned for her virtues. These men 
were engaged at their usual sport when Sumpter called upon them. 
" Shame on you," he said, " to be wasting your time in such pursuits 
at a crisis like this ; go with me and I will teach you to fight with 
men." They looked up in amazement. But his fine soldierly 
aspect and his kindling eye, warmed up their patriotism as they 
gazed. They sprang to their feet and grasped his hand. " You are 
a Blue Hen's chicken," they said ; and enlisted almost to a man. 
He soon found himself at the head of a larger force than he could 
arm. In this emergency the saws of the mills were fabricated into 





'^(yiy' 



THOMAS SUMPTER. 455 

sabres, lances were made by fastening knives at the end of a pole ; 
and pewter dishes were melted into bullets. 

His first enterprise was directed against a party of tories who had 
collected at Williams' plantation, in the upper part of South Carolina. 
The enemy was surprised, and in a few minutes utterly defeated. 
Colonel Ferguson, the commander of the party, and Captain Huck, a 
tory leader, notorious for his brutality, were among the slain; indeed, 
not twenty of the whole number of the foe escaped alive. This bril- 
liant stroke was the more exhilarating to the Americans because 
wholly unexpected ; and being accompanied almost simultaneously, 
by the successes of Marion in another quarter of the state, cheered 
the patriots with a prospect of eventual redemption from the yoke of 
the conquerer. Recruits flocked to both commanders. Governor 
Rutledge promptly sent Sumpter a commission as Brigadier in the 
militia, a rank which he also conferred on Marion, dividing the state 
between the two leaders. Sumpter was now at the head of six hun- 
dred men. He left the enemy scarcely time to recover from his first 
blow before he dealt a second. On the 30th of July he attacked the 
British fort at Rocky Mount, but, though he thrice assaulted the 
works, they proved too strong to be reduced without artillery, and 
he was compelled finally to draw off his men, with a heavy loss. 
The action, however, had assisted to discipline his troops, to give 
them confidence in their leader, and to whet their appetite for new 
enterprises. Without losing a moment, Sumpter now turned on 
Hanging Rock. This post was defended by five hundred men. The 
attack was so impetuous that the first line of the British instantly gave 
way and fell back on the second, composed of one hundred and sixty of 
Tarleton's infantry. This also retired in confusion, after a desper- 
ate struggle. Nothing now remained but the centre of the foe, which, 
however, was so well posted that it could not be routed ; and in the end, 
Sumpter abandoned the enterprise, though so terribly had the British 
suffered that they did not dare to pursue him. 

Hitherto he had been either decidedly victorious, or had engaged 
the enemy with such comparative success, that his enterprises had 
possessed all the moral force of triumphs. But a reverse was at hand. 
On the 16th of August he captured a British train of wagons at 
Carey's Fort, and was retiring negligently with his plunder, when 
Tarleton, two days after, overtook him at Fishing Creek, and com- 
pletely routed him. Undismayed, however, Sumpter hurried to 
North Carolina, recruited his shattered forces, and was speedily in 
the field again, as active, daring, and dreaded as ever. Taking up 
a position at Fishdam Ford, he was assaulted here on the 5th of No- 



456 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

vember, by Colonel Wemyss, at the head of the sixty-third regiment 
and corps of dragoons. A total defeat of the British was the con- 
sequence. This success was the more inspiring to the patriot because 
it was the first important one since the defeat of Gates at Camden. 
Mortified at the check, Cornwallis now despatched Tarleton a 
second time against Sumpter, who meantime had moved from his 
former position. The Americans retreated over the Tiger river, 
where they took up a strong position, intending to hold it during the 
day, and retreat as soon as night should throw its protecting mantle 
around. But the impetuosity of Tarleton having led that otficer, 
with a portion of his force, to advance some distance before the 
main body, Sumpter seized the advantage thus afl^orded, and issuing 
boldly from his position, in a few minutes put his antagonist to 
flight. One hundred and ninety-two of the British were left on the 
field. The Americans suffered comparatively little. Sumpter, how- 
ever, was severely wounded. Suspended in an ox-hide between two 
horses, he was now conveyed to North Carolina, where he lay, for 
a long time, incapacitated for service. The best testimony, perhaps, 
to his merits, was that paid by Cornwallis, on hearing of his wound. 
Writing to Tarleton, the British General said : " I shall be very glad 
to learn that Sumpter is in a condition to give us no further trouble. 
He certainly has been our greatest plague in this country." 

Sumpter was able to take the field early in 1781, in order to assist 
in diverting the attention of the enemy during the retreat of Greene 
through North Carolina. On the return of the army to South Caro- 
lina, Sumpter assisted in reducing the British chain of forts. For a 
period he now retired from active service. To this he was compelled 
by exhaustion and wounds. During his absence the terrible battle 
of Eutaw was fought ; but though not present himself, his brigade 
was, and did good service. When he rejoined his command, recruited 
in health and spirits, the war was virtually at an end. 

Little remains to be said of the subsequent life of Sumpter, except 
that it was prosperous, happy and honored. He was a member of 
Congress and afterwards a United States Senator. His term of years 
was extended far beyond that usually allotted to mankind ; and he 
lived to see one after another of his brother Generals drop into the 
grave, while he remained the last. His death occurred at his resi- 
dence near Bedford Springs, South Carolina, June the 1st, 1832, 
when he was in the ninety-eighth year of his age. 




lye 



arried 

58 



off 



HENRY LEE. 

.^ r? r7ENRY LEE, Lieu- 
? tSH-i tenant-Colonel Com- 
ki ^mandant of the parti- 
zan legion, was born 
sj: ni Virginia, in the 
"'Cyear 1757. At the 
age of nineteen he 
entered the continen- 
^ tal army as Captain 
of cavalry in the line 
of his native state 5 
and speedily becom- 
ing distinguished for 
his activity, enterprise 
and daring, rose to the 
rank of Major. In 
1 778, he planned an at- 
tack on Paulus Hook, 
a British post opposite 
New York. He sur- 
prised and captured 
-^^^-^"'^''"^ ' the garrison, and safe- 

his prisoners to the American lines, the exploit being 
00 ^^^ 




458 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

performed without the loss of a man. This briUiant affair ensured 
him the esteem and favor of the Commander-in-chief Soon after 
lie was appointed to raise a legionary corps, to act under him as a 
partially independent commander ; and the renown of his name 
speedily enabled him to enlist his complement of men. 

Lee accompanied Greene to the south immediately after the dis- 
astrous battle of Camden. His earliest exploit was in the retreat 
towards the Dan, when, in conjunction with Col. Otho Williams, he 
covered the rear in the most brilliant manner. From this period his 
services were constant, and generally crowned with success. He 
usually hung on the skirts of Greene's army, annoying the enemy 
at every opportunity and in every way. Occasionally he was 
detached from the main army to co-operate with others. It was at 
one of these periods that he and Marion made their gallant, though 
unsuccessful attempt on Georgetown. Subsequently, in conjunction 
with that General, he played an important part in the reduction of 
the British chain of posts, contributing more than any other man to 
the redemption of the south, if we except Greene and Marion. 

The legion of Lee was in constant motion. It endured privations 
of all kinds, not only without a murmur, but with enthusiasm. Most 
of its recruits were from the middle states. They were generally en- 
terprising young men, of superior intelligence, education and condi- 
tion in life to the ordinary privates of an army. Their leader was 
of their own age, and regarded them as brothers. Their numbers 
were not large, and they lived consequently in the closest intimacy 
with each other. Distinguished by superior privileges, and proved 
by the many gallant deeds they had performed, they acquired gradu- 
ally a feeling of conscious superiority and confidence in themselves, 
which, as in the case of the Old Guard, went far towards making 
them irresistible. Together they endured a thousand privations ; 
together they conquered a thousand difficulties ; together they shared 
a thousand perils. At the distance of half a century from the period 
of their separation, they still remembered each other's faces as if they 
had only parted the day before ; and it is said that when two of 
their number happened to meet after that long separation, they rushed 
instinctively together, and with tears, ejaculated each other's name. 

Lee resembled Marion rather than Sumpter in character. He 
mingled caution with enterprise, was exceedingly careful of the lives 
of his men, and never exposed them to unnecessary toils, or to risks 
too great for the expected benefit. Yet he was bold at times, almost 
to a fault ; and his prudence resulted more from necessity than in- 
stinct. For one so young to have displayed such qualities merits 



HENRY LEE. 459 

the highest praise. We cannot rank Lee among the ordinary leaders 
of the Revolution. He deserves to be called the Murat of Ame- 
rica — though he had far more intellect — and needed only the 
same enlarged sphere and vast means to rival that chivalrous 
officer. It must be borne in mind, when forming an estimate of our 
revolutionary heroes, that the slender resources of the country con- 
tinually crippled their exertions, and that they were irequently com- 
pelled to be cautious, when bolder measures would have better 
suited their tastes. It is a remarkable fact that every leader who dis- 
regarded prudence, and attempted to carry on the war as war was 
carried on in Europe, failed with signal disgrace. That Lee, at 
twenty-two, should have been what he was, proves his extraordinary 
genius. Cornwallis said of him, " that he came a soldier from his 
mother's womb." 

The legion was continually in the most critical positions. Once, 
when the siege of Ninety-Six was relieved, it had barely time to 
escape, so sudden was the approach of the enemy. It may give 
an idea of its mode of life to introduce an anecdote here. Some 
peas and beef had been procured, and the men were eagerly watch- 
ing the process of boiling, when the alarm was given. Instantly 
every man was in his saddle. But, loathe to leave the dinner for 
which they had been hungrily waiting, each soldier grasped what 
he could get, some a piece of beef, others a cap full of peas, and 
galloped off: and, perhaps, a more ludicrous spectacle was never 
seen than the troops in their flight, 1 aning over towards each other 
and bargaining beef for peas and peas for beef, all eating so fast they 
could scarcely speak. Another anecdote will illustrate Lee's cau- 
tion. He always, at night, posted guards around the house where 
he expected to sleep, yet often, after the troopers generally had sunk 
to repose, he would steal out into the open air and share the blanket 
of some favorite. This he did to prevent having his person sur- 
prised. 

When the war terminated, he returned to his native state. Here 
honors were heaped on him by the grateful citizens. He was elect- 
ed to the Legislature, chosen a delegate to Congress, and appointed 
one of the convention by which the present federal constitution of 
the United States was adopted. He was also, for three years, Gov- 
ernor of Virginia. Subsequently he was a member of Congress 
under the federal constitution. He appeared in military life but 
once, after the peace of 1780: this was when he joined the army 
sent to quell the whiskey insurrection in Western Pennsylvania. 
He lived to the age of sixty-one, and died at Cumberland Island, 



460 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTIOX. 



Georgia, on his return from the West Indies to Virginia. The pru- 
dence which distinguished him as a mihtary leader, unfortunately 
did not follow him into the transactions of private life, and, after 
having lived hospitably and generously, it was his lot, in old age, to 
die poor. His last hours, however, were sweetened by being per- 
mitted to die in the arms of the son of an old mesmate, whom he 
had loved as a brother. 

We cannot close this sketch without referring to a story which 
has been propagated respecting Martin Rudolph, one of Lee's 
legion. It is said that this individual secretly went to France, at 
the period of the revolution in that country, and entering the army 
of the Rhine under an assumed name, subsequently became the re- 
nowned Marshal Ney. The disappearance of Rudolph from America 
in 1792 ; the similarity of his character to that of the impetuous 
Ney ; and an assertion that the French hero denied being a native 
of France, are the chief grounds on which this romantic story is 
based. We have the authority, however, of a surviving member of 
Lee's legion, who was Rudolph's companion for years, to say that, 
in the published portraits of Marshal Ney, there is no resemblance 
to the American hero ; and knowing, as we do, the informant's accu- 
rate memory in such things, we should regard this evidence as con- 
clusive, even if the fiction was sustained by stronger proofs than 
those yet adduced. The gentleman to whom we refer is Captain 
James Cooper, of Haddonfield, N. J. We believe tint, with a 
single exception, he is the sole surviving member of the legion. 





iB^ia©a©ii[r 



■'.WlliL Kl(o)K©^i 





MORGAN AT THE BATTLE OF t^TILLWATEit. 



DANIEL MORGAN 




ANIEL MORGAN, a Major-General in 
the American army, was born in New 
Jersey, in 1736. He belonged to the same 
(class of military heroes as Putnam, Wayne 
and Arnold, and was known, among his 
cotemporaries, as " the thunderbolt of war. ' ' 
His intellect was not comprehensive, nor his education 
extensive ; but he had great prudence, an invaluable gift, 
especially when combined with high personal courage. 
His early life was spent in Virginia, where he followed 
the occupation of a wagoner. While attending Brad- 
dock's army in this capacity, he was subjected to the 
indignity of receiving four hundred and fifty lashes, for having struck 
an officer who had insulted him. He endured his horrible punish- 
ment without flinching, though he fainted at last from extremity of 
anguish ; and, what is creditable to his heart, forgave the man who 
had injured him, when the latter, discovering that he had been in 
fault in the original difference, asked Morgan's pardon. In conse- 
quence of being disabled by this punishment, Morgan was not 
present on tlie fatal field of Monongahela. 

GO - 461 



462 THE HEKOES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

On his recovery he was appointed to the rank of Ensign, and soon 
became distinguished for his enterprise, activity and courage. He 
attracted the notice of Washington and secured the friendship of that 
great man. On one occasion he had an ahuost miraculous escape 
from death. Accompanied by two scouts, he was carrying des- 
patches to a frontier fort, when the crack of rifles was heard, and 
his companions fell ,iead beside him. At the same time a ball, en- 
tering the back of his neck, passed out through his cheek, after shat- 
tering his jaw. Looking around, he saw several savages start from 
a neighboring thicket, one of whom gave pursuit with his tomahawk 
raised to strike. Though believing himself mortally wounded, Mor- 
gan resolved not to yield his scalp without an effort, and, grasping 
the mane of his horse, dashed spurs into the sides of the animal and 
shot off towards the fort. At this the savage, perceiving the chase 
likely to be an abortive one, threw his hatchet, but the weapon fell 
short, and Morgan succeeded in gaining the fort. For many years 
afterwards, Morgan lived at Battletown, in Virginia, where he was 
celebrated for his devotion to pugilistic exercises. Nor was this 
trait singular. In his humble sphere he played the bully, as, in a 
loftier one, he would have been a duelist : for men of his temperament 
are impelled to action restlessly, and if not heroes, must be profligates. 

When the war of independence began, Morgan was appointed a 
Captain, and immediately began to raise a rifle company, which 
proved the nucleus of the celebrated corps that afterwards was of such 
service during the contest. Morgan, in three weeks, with his new 
recruits, completed the march from Virginia to Cambridge, a distance 
of six hundred miles. A short time after his arrival at head-quar- 
ters, he was detached to join the expedition of Arnold against Can- 
ada ; and, in the fatal attack on Quebec, in which Montgomery fell, 
signalized himself by an exhibition of the most desperate bravery. 
He belonged to Arnold's division, and, assuming the command after 
that General was wounded, stormed the defence, and even gained 
the second barrier. But here, notwithstanding every exertion, his 
assault failed, and he was taken prisoner with most of his men. 
His dashing courage during the attack had attracted the notice of 
the British Governor, and the rank of Colonel in the royal army was 
proffered him as an inducement to desert his countrymen. The pro- 
posal was rejected with scorn. His conduct in this affair met the 
approval of Washington and of Congress to such a degree, that, on 
being exchanged, he was immediately raised to the rank of Colonel, 
and the rifle brigade, which had now increased to the number of 
five hundred men, consigned to his command. 



DANIEL MORGAN. 463 

When Burgoyne, in 1777, was advancing into the heart of New- 
York, attended by hordes of Indian aUies, Morgan was despatched 
to join Gates, in order, as Washington wrote, that there might be a 
man in the American camp " to fight the Indians in their own way," 
His services, during the campaign that ensued, were of the most 
signal value. He opened the battle of Stillwater, and drove in the 
Canadians and Indians ; but being, at last, overpowered by numbers, 
was forced back on Arnold's main position. In the ensuing skir- 
mishes between the two armies, Morgan's corps was in constant 
requisition. But when Burgoyne surrendered, Gates meanly over- 
looked his subordinate in the despatches. It is narrated that, at a 
dinner given to some English oliicers, the General was waited 
on by a person in uniform, whose appearance so struck the guests 
that they enquired his name : when what was their astonishment to 
learn that this was the redoubtable Morgan, whose prowess they 
had so often felt, and an introduction to whom they had vainly de- 
sired since their capture. The cause of this neglect of Gates, as sub- 
sequently discovered, was a refusal to join in the cabal against 
Washington. During most of the ensuing years of the war, Mor- 
gan served with the main army. In 1780, however, he retired 
to his farm in Frederick county, Virginia, completely disabled by a 
rheumatism brought on by exposure during his campaigns. 

Wlien Charleston fell, and Gates was appointed to the southern 
army, Morgan, although but partially recovered, accepted the rank 
of Brigadier-General, and consented to serve under his old leader. 
He did not arrive at head-quarters, however, until after the battle 
of Camden ; but came with General Greene, when sent to displace 
Gates. Soon after he was despatched to the country in the vicinity 
of the Pacolet River, in order to rouse the spirits of the patriots in 
that quarter, as also to make a demonstration against Ninety-Six. 
Tarleton was immediately sent in pursuit. Morgan halted to 
receive the British at a place called the Cowpens. A sharp, but de- 
cisive battle ensued, the particulars of which we have narrated at 
sufficient length in another place. The victory was owing, in part, 
to Morgan's admirable positions, in part to the firmness of Lieuten- 
ant-Colonel Howard, at the head of the Maryland line. Knowing 
that Cornwallis, who was but twenty-five miles distant, would be 
upon him if he delayed, Morgan, on the same day, contiiuied his 
retreat, and succeeded in crossing the Catawba in safety with his 
prisoners, though the whole British army was pressing rapidly in 
pursuit. The moral eflect of the battle of the Cowpens was 
so great as to be almost incalculable. It strikingly exemplifies 



464 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

Morgan's military character. In the judicious tempering of courage 
with prudence, so eminently exhibited on that day, we recognize 
the quality to which he was indebted for success and glory through- 
out his whole career. 

It was shortly after this famous battle that Morgan retired from 
the southern army. He had ditiered from Greene as to the course 
to be pursued in the celebrated retreat across North Carolina, and 
to this fact many have attributed his return to private life ; but the 
more charitable supposition is, that his rheumatism, from which he 
still sufiered acutely, led to this result. Lee, in his narrative of the 
campaign, exonerates Morgan from any unworthy motive in retiring. 
On the advance of Cornwallis into Virginia, Morgan again took the 
field, and served until the capitulation at Yorktown. He now 
returned to his farm, which lie had called " Saratoga," in memory 
of the earlier days of his glory ; and here, devoting himself to agri- 
culture, and to historical reading, he spent the chief part of the 
remainder of his days. In 1791, \vhen the Indian war broke out, it 
is said that Washington desired to place him at the head of the 
expedition sent to chastise the savages ; but the pretensions of St. 
Clair were, perhaps, too well sustained. In 1794, however, at 
the crisis of the " whiskey insurrection," Morgan was appointed to 
the force marched against the insurgents. After this, he served for 
two sessions in Congress. In 1802, he died at Winchester, in Virginia. 

The intellect of JVIorgan was keen, and if it had been suitably in- 
formed, would have left him few superiors. In physical courage he 
resembled Ney, Macdonald and Murat. His early Vife was reckless 
in some respects; but this was merely the result of high animal spirits ; 
for, even during his residence at Battletown, he was acquiring, by 
his prudent sagacity, a comfortable farm. In later years he became 
eminently pious. He had always, indeed, possessed strong religious 
i'eelings, and was accustomed frequently to pray before going into 
battle. He used afterwards to say, that when he saw Tarletou 
advancing, at the Cowpens, his heart misgave him, and it was not 
mitil he had retired to a clump of woods concealed from sight, and 
there prayed fervently, that he felt relieved. "Ah!" he remarked, 
recounting this incident, " people said old Morgan never feared — 
they thought old Morgan never prayed — they did not know — old 
Morgan was often miserably afraid." This constitutional depression 
of spirits on the eve of great emergencies, has always been character- 
istic of the bravest men. And, in fact, does not the almost super- 
human courage such individuals exhibit in battle arise from the 
rebound ? In Morgan's case, at least, it would seem to have been so, 




TIIADDKUS KOSCIUSZKO. 

EVER, perhaps, was 
there a more chivah'ous 
soul than burned in the 
bosomof Thaddeus Kos- 
ciuszko ! This gallant 
soldier, better known as 
the hero of Poland, serv- 
ed, in his early life, in 
the continental army of 
the United States, in 
which he held the rank 
of Brigadier-General. — 
He was born on the 12th 
of February, 1756, of an 
ancient and noble fami- 
ly in Lithuania. Having 
been educated in the 
military school at War- 
saw, he received a Captaincy through the influence of Prince Czar- 
59 ' 465 




i66 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

toriski ; but, endeavoring to elope with a lady of higher rank thar 
himself, he was pursued, wounded and obliged to leave Poland. 
From that hour he appears to have romantically made his sword his 
mistress. The Revolution in America having just broken out, Kos- 
ciuszko, inspired by a passionate love for freedom, hastened to our 
shores and offered us his aid. His abilities were immediately per- 
ceived by Washington, who took him uJo his family ; and subse- 
quently sent him with Greene to the south, with the rank of a Brig- 
adier. Here he acted as principal engineer to the army. At the 
attack on Ninety-Six, where he directed the beseiging operations, he 
won the highest credit, behaving with unusual personal intrepidity, 
and evincing profound military science. At the close of the war he 
returned to Europe, carrying with him an enviable reputation. 

But it was the part he took in the struggle of Poland, in the years 
1792 and 1794, which has made the name of Kosciuszko immortal. 
The prodigies of valor he performed, the terror his mere presence 
struck into the foe, scarcely belong to modern warfare, but carry the 
in)agination back to the fabled knights of old. At Dubienka, in 
1792, at the head of four thousand men, he thrice repulsed the 
attack of the Russian array, eighteen thousand strong. On the sub- 
mission of Stanislaus, Kosciuszko retired in disgust from Poland. 
But, in 1794, when the last and greatest struggle of the Poles 
occurred, he hastened once more to unsheath the sword for his 
native land. His appearance at Cracow, the ancient seat of the 
Jagellons, was hailed with tumultuous shouts. As the friend of 
Washington, and the hero of many a bloody field, he was looked up 
to as the only man who could rescue Poland ; and accordingly, on 
the 24th of March, notwithstanding his comparatively early years, 
was proclaimed Dictator and Generalissimo. A victory gained 
within a fortnight over twelve thousand Russians, while Kosciuszko 
had but four thousand Poles, filled the nation with enthusiasm. 
Troops flocked to his banner, and he soon found himself at the head 
of thirteen thousand men. But, alas ! they were not such as in the 
days of Sobieski, when it was the proud boast of the Polish horse- 
men, that if the heavens were to fall, they would support it on the 
points of their lances. Ill armed and worse disciplined, the Polish 
army could not always command victory, even with Kosciuszko at 
its head. On the 6th of June he was defeated by a superior force 
of Russians and Prussians, and compelled to retire on his entrench- 
ments at Warsaw, to preserve himself from utter ruin. 

Here he was speedily beseiged by an army of sixty thousand men. 
Day and night' his little band watched and fought, until weeks grew 



THADDEUS KOSCIUSZKO. 4(w 

into months, and the summer was nearly past. Bat the enemy could 
make no impression on the works. At last a general assault was 
ordered. It was manfully repulsed by Kosciuszko, at the head of 
ten thousand men, though sixty thousand Russians and Prussians 
swarmed to the attack. Ttiis repulse set Poland in a blaze. The 
tocsin of freedom sounded through the land, and her population rose 
in a living mass. The siege of Warsaw was raised. Troops 
crowded to the banner of Kosciuszko. He was hailed with rapture 
as the deliverer of his country. But the exultation of his fellow 
citizens was destined to be of short duration. Kosciuszko himself 
scarcely dared to hope for permanent success, surrounded as he was 
by three mighty empires, all sworn to his destruction ! The defeat 
at Warsaw was no sooner known in Russia than the most extensive 
preparations were made to prepare an army which should crush 
forever the Polish patriots. 

This gigantic force, numbering sixty thousand, met Kosciuszko, 
at the head of twenty thousand, on the plains of Maciejowice. 
Three times the Russians assaulted the Polish lines, and three times 
they were repulsed ; but on the fourth attack they succeeded in 
breaking the ranks of the patriots, now weakened by a loss of one- 
third their number, Kosciuszko, seeing the day going against him, 
made a desperate ettbrt to retrieve the field. Calling a few equally 
brave souls around him, he rushed headlong on the assailants ; and 
for a while they shrank appalled before his impetuous charge ! But, 
soon rallying, they hemmed in the hero, who fell, at last, pierced by 
numerous wounds. " Poland is no more !" were his words, as he 
sank to the earth. His army, hearing he was down, fled in every 
direction. With him the cohesive principle of the struggle departed, 
and the war was terminated, in a short time, by the complete subju- 
gation of the nation. 

Kosciuszko spent some time in the dungeons of Russia, but on the 
accession of Paul, was released. That monarch even strove to pro- 
pitiate the hero, and would have presented his own sword to Kosci- 
uszko ; but the latter declined the gift, saying that " he who no 
longer had a country, no longer had need of a weapon." True to 
his word, he never wore a sword again. He now visited America, 
where he received a pension. In 1798, he returned to Europe, and 
was presented by the Poles, in the army of Italy, with the sword of 
John Sobieski, Napoleon would have made use of him as an instru- 
ment in conciliating the Poles, and for this purpose endeavored to 
flatter the now aged hero with hopes of the restoration of his native 
land. But Kosciuszko was not to be deluded, and he constantly 



468 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



refused the sanction of his name. Having purchased an estate near 
Fontainbleau, he Hved there in retirement until the year 1814. He 
now spent a year in Italy. In 1816, he fixed his final residence at 
Soleure, in Switzerland. A fall from his horse, over a precipice, on 
the 10th of October, 1817, occasioned his death. The Emperor 
Alexander, who had long entertained a high admiration of the hero, 
caused the body of Kosciuszko to be removed to Poland, and de- 
posited at Cracow, in the tombs of the ancient Kings. 

Kosciuszko was a General of the very highest talent, and a patriot 
of the most self-sacrificing character. As Washington was the hero 
of the American Revolution, so Kosciuszko was that of the Polish 
struggle of 1794. How different their fates! The one, crowned 
with success, died in the midst of a nation founded by his victories ; 
the other, a hopeless exile, devoured by bitter melancholy, perished 
alone, and in a foreign land. The one lies in his ancestral shades. 
The other cannot, even in death, repose on Polish soil ! The tombs 
of the Jagellons, that should ever have been held sacred, are, by a 
late act of perfidy, transferred to Austria dominion. 





ALEXANDER HAMILTON, 




LEXANDER HAMILTON, Inspector-Ge- 
neral of the American army, was born at 
the island of St. Croix, in the year 1757; 
but came to the city of New York at the 
age of seventeen, with his mother, who was 
an American. In 1775, he entered the army 
as an officer of artillery. He soon attracted 
the notice of Washington, who selected him 
for an aid, and in whose military family he 

continued many years. 

Some men are distinguished for excellence in one department : 

such were Adams, Putnam, Henry, and a host of other ! A few excel 
all things. Of this class was Hamilton. The versatility of his 



ni 



mind was not less remarkable than its depth. Quick to apprehend, 

clear to reason, comprehensive to judge, he filled in succession the 

pp 469 



470 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

parts of soldier, jurist, Statesman and author, with a brilliancy thai 
dazzled his coteniporaries, and almost taxes the credulity of posteri- 
ty. Yet there was nothing of the charlatan in his assuming so many 
characters. His intellect was one of those evenly balanced ones which 
can master every subject to which it turns its energies ; and Hamil- 
ton never trusted to his abilities alone, but fortified himself by long 
and ardent study. His distinguishing trait, like Napoleon's, was a 
mathematical precision, which, in the vast recesses of his mind, 
reduced all things to syllogisms, and thus seemed, in its results, to 
be infallible. His majestic bust, as preserved to us by the chisel of 
the sculptor, is the type of intellectual power. In every lineament of 
that striking yet beautiful countenance, in the lofty forehead, the 
serene mouth, the brow knitted in thought, there is revealed that 
colossal mind, whose counsels, when uttered, come with the force 
of prophecies ! 

Hamilton is one of those characters in history who are more 
known by results, than by any single act of peculiar brilliancy. He 
did not blaze out in successive flashes, but shone with steady and 
continual elTulgence. His political career, like that of the younger 
Pitt, is still a theme for controversy. No one can deny that he ex- 
ercised a mighty influence over his age. No one can refuse to admit 
that he meant well. No one but acknowledges that his measures 
were productive of present, when not of permanent good. Yet his 
political creed, at least in its original strictness, is a dead letter. It 
has no advocates. It boasts few even secret friends. Those who 
approximate nearest to it, would have been considered by him and 
by his party not less heterodox in their belief than his worst antag- 
onists. But it does not follow that Hamilton was not a great states- 
man for his times, any more than that the mighty intellects of the 
pret-ent day are over-rated, because, fifty years hence, new dis- 
coveries in political science may scatter what are now popular theo- 
ries to the winds. The law of the mind is progress. Each generation, 
moreover, has its atmosphere of prejudice, which imperceptibly 
artects modes of thought ; and frequently one age condemns another 
for want of wisdom, when the foolishness is in itself Without 
assuming to pass judgment on Hamilton, we shall hastily sketch his 
portrait, as well as that of the times in which he moved. 

Hamilton is conceded to have been a great military genius, yet, at 
this day, we can scarcely see on what this reputation was based. It 
rests more on general consent than on any one brilliant act. It is 
said that his suggestions, on several occasions, led to the most deci- 
sive results • and the surprise at Trenton has been attributed to him 



ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 471 

by more than one writer. But there is no evidence in favor of this. 
It is, on the contrary, certain that Washington was the first origina- 
tor of that splendid attack. Yet, though no particular act of his can 
1)0 quoted as proof, we cannot refuse credit to the military genius of 
Hamilton. His cotemporaries, who knew his abilities from personal 
observation, could judge of what he might have done, if the oppor- 
tunity had been presented, while we, who can only measure him by 
what he achieved, are comparatively in the dark. He carried with 
him, out of the war, a reputation for dashing courage, brilliant tac- 
tics, profound and comprehensive strategy. Judging, as impartial 
men, we must pronounce this opinion right. Hamilton could not 
have been less than a great military leader ; for, in analysing his 
character, we find all the necessary qualifications. He possessed 
vast mathematical ability. He was always cool, rapid, and of the 
keenest insight. At Monmouth, where he rushed on death to check 
the retreat, and at Yorktown, where he stormed the batteries without 
pulling a trigger, he showed himself as brave, yet as self-collected 
as any Paladin of old. To crown all, he had been brought up by 
Washington. With these advantages a weaker man than Hamilton 
would have become a great Captain. 

When he returned to civil life he adopted the profession of the 
law, and soon become as celebrated here as in his military career. 
Yet he had received little, or none of that training, which is con- 
sidered indispensable to the great advocate. His eloquence, as it 
has came down to us by tradition, bore the impress of a rich, but 
uncultivated mind. It was strong, direct, commanding, rather than 
gentle, seductive, or ornamental. It had nerves of iron, and fibres 
of silver. It was the eloquence of a man in earnest. It en- 
dured no trifling. Yet it was not bold, like that of his great 
rival. Burr. On the contrary, it gave evidence of the luxu- 
riant source from which it sprung ; and, while rushing and irresisti- 
ble, was still broad and deep. His principles were such as were 
worthy of his intellect. He loathed duplicity, scorned meanness, 
hated villainy. He was honorable and high-minded. Yet, in some 
things, he allowed his zeal to outstrip his justice. He was often 
nidiscreet. He could make others, when he wished, dislike him 
cordially ; and he could dislike in turn. He had not the stern virtue 
of Jay, at all times, to resist the temptations of policy or the fear of 
public opinion. Yet he was, on the whole, a pure man ; purer than 
most of his cotemporaries ; and his death, when he fell by the hand 
of Burr, made a vacancy never since filled. 

It would be the best epitaph for Alexander Hamilton, that he 



472 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

contributed, more than any other man, to procure the adoption of 
the Co!istitution of these United States. The peace of 1783 found 
the colonies united under the articles of the old confederation. But, 
having been chosen during the hurry of the war, they were crude 
and clumsy, exhibiting in every feature the mutual jealousies of the 
states. Each commonwealth was, to all purposes, an independent 
sovereignty. The power of Congress was merely advisory. No 
compulsion could be exercised by that body over the separate mem- 
bers of the confederacy. Neither taxes could be levied, nor duties 
raised in any state where the tax or duty was unpopular. Mean- 
while the revenue was inadequate to pay the interest of the debt, 
much less to liquidate the principal. The holders of scrip complained: 
the soldiers clamored for arrears. Orticers Avho had spent their all 
in the service of their country, and who only asked a return of what 
they had expended, in vain petitioned for relief, and died, with their 
families, hi miserable destitution. The indifference to obligations, 
exhibited by the states, began to spread to private individuals : the 
force of contracts was less and less regarded ; disorganization every- 
where infested political and social life. Massachusetts was the scene 
of insurrection. It was evident that, if this state of things continued, 
anarchy must ensue. Confidence in republicanism began to give 
way. Men of fortune trembled for their property. Commerce was 
dead ; manufactures, there were none ; even agriculture languished 
in the general decay. 

At last the evil became endurable no longer. All parties agreed 
that a change was necessary, and the result was a proposal for a 
general convention, in which some form of government, more pliable 
than the old confederation, might be adopted. The convention met 
in 1787. Never, perhaps, will a more august body assemble. It 
numbered, among its members, the purest as well as the ablest of 
the land : men eminent for wisdom, for learning, for immaculate 
probity. But it was soon found that their sentiments were as diverse 
as their modes of life, or the states from which they came. The 
secrecy which, for a long time, veiled the transactions of that body, 
has now been drawn aside, and we can speak of its proceedings 
with accuracy, if not with impartiality. Two great parties divided 
the convention. On each side was arrayed vast ability, and an 
honesty of purpose that could not be questioned. One section, fear- 
mg that anarchy was at hand, declared in favor of imitating the 
British Constitution ; another, unwilling for the sovereignty of the 
states to be absorbed, wished to patch up the old confederation. It 
is dilficult, at this day, to place ourselves suiiiciently on a level with 



ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 473 

that period to do equal justice to both parties. It must be recollect- 
ed that no republic had then ever successfully preserved its liberty, 
and that England was confessedly the freest country on the globe. 
It must be remembered, also, that monarchy was familiar to the 
people, and that, scarcely twenty years before, America had been 
over zealous in loyalty. It was not so strange, therefore, that men 
should lean to a strong government, especially when they saw no 
guide by which to carry the nation through the anarchy that threat- 
ened on all hands. Hamilton was one of those who favored con- 
solidation. He may even have distrusted the capacity of the people 
for self-government ; but he was willing to give them a fair trial, 
and pledged all the influence of his talents on that side. The result 
was a compromise between the two parties, and the adoption of the 
Constitution in its present shape. In favor of this instrument Ham- 
ilton successfully exerted his eloquence, in order to procure its 
adoption by the states. 

For a while the friends and enemies of the new government united 
to give it a fair trial. But this did not continue long. Hamilton 
had been appointed Secretary of the Treasury; and the first object 
that claimed his attention was the making a provision for the public 
debt. He boldly proposed to fund this, and fund it without deduc- 
tion. But, as the original creditors had long since parted with their 
claims, at a depreciated price, it seemed unjust to some, that the 
speculators who had bought up the scrip should be paid off at par. 
At once the country split into two factions on this question. A 
nucleus having been thus formed, the tendency to assimilation in- 
creased, and two great parties gradually grew from this slight 
beginning. One numbered in its ranks those who wished for a strong 
government, the other, those who had desired a weak one. One 
was for a hberal, the other for a strict construction of the Constitu- 
tion. One was for high taxes, a funded debt, a bank, a full dis- 
charge of all obligations ; the other for light imposts, no bank, and a 
discrimination between the original creditor and speculators holding 
his rights. The one found most adherents at the north : the other 
at the south. Both parties were, in the main, honest. At the out- 
set, however, the federalists had the ablest men. But, as the strife 
waxed fiercer, it was found that the latter labored under many dis- 
advantages, fatal to their permanent popularity. The leaders had 
been in the army and were thought to be despotic in their views. 
They had formed the Cincinnati, a society, as at first established, 
having the appearance of a self-constituted aristocracy. They 
openly avowed their leaning towards consolidation. Some were 
60 pp* 



474 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

even thought to desire a monarchy. A few, inflated by vanity, 
longed for the pomp and display of courts. But they were all, or 
nearly all, honest men. No one has ever raked up, from the ashes 
of expired faction, a single well authenticated charge against the 
integrity of Washington, Marshall, or Jay. 

Their opponents were of less ability, were less known by their 
services, and enjoyed, originally, less of the consideration of their 
fellow men. But they possessed a more alluring creed. They pro- 
fessed unlimited confidence in the good sense and virtue of the 
people, and were for pushing the experiment of self-government as 
near to a pure democracy as possible. But these opinions had 
never, at that day, been tested by trial ; and men of timorous minds 
shrank from them in fear, especially when they found that, in both 
Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, the people had risen against their 
own laws, passed by their own representatives. The contest be- 
tween the two parties waxed hotter and fiercer. New questions 
became continually involved in the dispute, new subjects of acrimo- 
ny arose, until, in the Presidencj^ of John Adams, when the rebuking 
aspect of Washington was withdrawn, the nation boiled and seethed 
to its lowest depths. Each side viewed the other through a dis- 
torted medium. Misrepresentations abounded. The fever of the 
French Revolution, and the wars growing out of it, infected the 
nation, and tended to madden the two factions still more. The 
federalists were declared to be in the British interest ; their oppo- 
nents were charged with selling the country to France. The insults 
of the Directory provoked one ; the haughtiness of England irritated 
the other. A noisy riot, in which some windows were broken, was 
said by the republicans to have been an abortive attempt at a gene- 
ral massacre of their party; a street mob, in which men and boys, 
wearing the Jacobin cap, danced around a liberty pole, was cried 
down as the prelude to a Reign of Terror. The republicans were 
said to covet spoliation and anarchy because Jefierson had frater- 
nized with Volney, Barras, Marat and Barere ; the federalists were 
charged with intending a monarchy, because John Adams wore a 
bag and sword, because Callender had been imprisoned for a libel, 
because Washington received company once a week at a levee. 

In this tumultuous ocean of politics Hamilton was a leading ele- 
ment. He had become an ardent advocate for the Constitution the 
moment it had been chosen by the convention, and had contributed 
materially to its adoption by a series of essays since entitled the 
Federalist, On the elevation of Washington to the Presidency, he 
had been selected for the Treasuryship, and had given, as we have 



ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 475 

seen, the first occasion for the foundation of party by his funding 
system. He and Mr. Jefferson soon came to be considered the 
leaders of the two opposite factions, and frequently, while both were 
members of the Cabinet, it was with difficulty Washington could 
restrain them in his presence. Each, finally, retired to private Hfe, 
hitter political enemies. Yet, when John Adams succeeded to the 
Presidency, Hamilton did not implicitly adopt the creed promulgated 
by that honest, but obstinate, and far less able man. 

On the contrary, he made no secret of his preference in favor of 
Pinckney for the Presidency ; and by so doing, he probably contri- 
buted indirectly to the elevation of Jefferson and Burr. Whatever 
may have been its faults and its virtues, and the time has scarcely 
come to canvass them freely, the federal party could scarcely have 
survived much longer than it did ; for there were defects inherent in 
it, as a party seeking popular favor, which must, sooner or later, 
have produced its downfall, even if it had triumphed in the election 
of 1801. But, on this subject, we shall speak more at length, when 
we come to the biography of Burr. 

In 1798, when a war with France was threatened, and a provi- 
sional army was raised with Washington at its head, Hamilton re- 
ceived the appointment of Inspector-General, and, in a short time, 
carried the organization and discipline of his forces to high perfec- 
tion. On the termination of the dispute with France, he resumed 
his profession. In 1804, he took a conspicuous part in defeating the 
election of Burr for Governor of New York. During the campaign, 
he had publicly expressed his want of confidence in the Vice-Presi- 
dent as a politician and a man ; and the latter, fixing on this to re- 
venge years of fancied wrong, and certainly injured in position by the 
accusation, challenged him. A duel was the consequence, in which 
Hamilton fell. Impartial history must record the fact that Burr had 
deliberately resolved on the murder of his great rival. Posterity 
will ever regret that Hamilton could be induced on any considera- 
tion to engage in a duel. It was a mode of adjusting differences 
abhorrent to his sense of right, and he seems to have entered on it 
with a presentiment of his fate. 

Thus perished, in the forty-seventh year of his age, one of the 
most remarkable men this country has yet produced. His death 
was followed by almost universal mourning. Even his political 
adversaries, now that the grave had closed over him, forgot their 
differences, and mingled their tears with those of his immediate 
partizans and friends. In several of the chief cities of the Union, 
funeral orations were pronounced on the occasion. At others the 



476 



THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 



bells tolled and the flags were displayed at half mast. In New 
York, from a stage in the portico of Trinity Church, Governor Mor- 
ris, attended by the four orphan boys of Hamilton, pronounced an 
extemporaneous oration over the remains, interrupted only by the 
sobs of the multitude. How ditferent the obsequies of his great 
rival, Aaron Burr ! 








AARON BURR. 



ARON BURR, a Colonel in the Ameri- 
can army, was born on the 6th of Fe- 
bruary, 1756, in Newark, New Jersey. 
On both the paternal and maternal side 
he was descended from those illustrious 
i for talent. His father was a divine of 
■^ / celebrity, the President of Princeton 
Cohege. His grandfather was tbe re- 
nowned Jonathan Edwards, the greatest 
metaphysician since the days of Chillingworth. His mother was 
famed not less for talent than for exemplary piety. With every ad- 
vantage of birth, fortune and education at the opening of life, Burr 
was destined, before his death, to become a memorable example of 

477 




478 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

talents abused, opportunities neglected, and a virtuous name covered 
with obloquy. 

At the age of eighteen Burr entered the army. This was imme- 
diately after the battle of Bunker Hill. His parents being dead, he 
was under the care of a guardian, who sent a messenger to bring 
him back, but Burr, with the headlong and daring nature that belong- 
ed to him so eminently, threatened to have the man hung, unless he 
returned, for tampering with a soldier's duty. He subsequently ac- 
companied Arnold to Canada, in that terrible expedition across the 
wilderness of Maine. He was one of Montgomery's aids, and pre- 
sent at the battle of Quebec, and throughout the whole campaign 
that ensued he conducted himself with so much courage and ability, 
tliat when he returned to the United States, Washington conferred 
on him the high honor of a post in his family. But even at this 
early day Burr was a profligate in morals, and this becoming known 
to Washington, the Commander-in-chief and his young aid parted, 
on the one side with pitying reproof, on the other with enmity and a 
smothered desire for revenge. Burr now joined the line, where he 
served with credit. But, in a few years, he quitted the army, partly 
from ill-health, partly because he thought himself neglected. Wash- 
ington, to the last, acknowledged the great abilities of Burr, but, as he 
believed the young Colonel not a man to be trusted, Burr was never 
honored as others were, with any of the marks of his regard. 

Burr now devoted himself to tlie law, in which profession he rose 
rapidly. He became one of the leaders of the New York bar, was 
made Attorney-General of the commonwealth, and shortly after the 
adoption of the Federal Constitution, was elected a United States 
Senator. As a lawyer he was distinguished for tact rather than for 
erudition. He was expert in all the trickery of the courts. Shrewd, 
persevering, subtle, ever assailing his adversary on points least ex- 
pected, he gained, right or wrong, a large portion of the cases con- 
fided to him. He brought to the bar that profligacy of opinion which 
few, besides Washington, had yet detected. His maxim " that the 
law is whatever is boldly asserted and plausibly maintained," forms 
a key to his principles. His character is admirably illustrated by an 
anecdote current of this period of his life. Burr was employed in a 
great land suit, in which his opponent had all the right on his side. 
On the day of trial, however, Burr trumped up evidence, to the aston- 
ishment of every one, to prove that an old deed, necessary to the chain 
of his antagonist's title, was a forgery. No one had ever before 
called in question the authenticity of the deed, and consequently his 
opponent was unprovided with the necessary testimony. Burr gain- 



AARON BURR. 479 

ed the cause accordingly, and his chent hved and died in possession 
of the estate, though two verdicts have since estabhshed the authen- 
ticity of the deed and restored the land to its rightful owners. 

As a politician Burr rose rapidly. Affable, munificent, easy of access, 
full of popular arts, he was admirably calculated for success in public life. 
His ascent was so rapid as almost to seem miraculous. First, Attorney 
General of New York, then Senator, in a few years he was Vice-Pre- 
sident, and had barely missed the Presidency itself. And this suc- 
cess he owed to his genius for intrigue. We cannot better illustrate 
the character of this extraordinary man than by describing the part 
he played in the election of 1800, when the two great factions which 
then divided the nation, were grappling, in their death struggle. The 
whole story is as strange and fascinating as anything in Arabian 
fiction. 

Burr early foresaw that the result would be determined by the vote 
of the city of New York. But there existed at that time, an appa- 
rently irreconcilable breach in the republican faction of that place. 
To heal this breach Burr set himself industriously to work. He har- 
monized by his wonderful address the discordant elements, and pro- 
cured the nomination of a legislative ticket agreeable to both divi- 
sions of the party. He was indefatigable day and night ; he wheedled, 
he cajoled, he made large promises. On the morning of the election he 
met General Hamilton at the polls and argued with him, before the 
people, the great questions on which they differed. Burr triumphed. 
The republicans elected their ticket ; this gave their party a majority 
in the legislature, and as that body then chose the electors, the vote 
of the great state of New York was cast for Jefierson, and was thought 
to decide his elevation to the Presidency. Never before had such a 
triumph been achieved by the genius of one man. 

Congress met. The federalists were sullen and in despair ; the re 
publicans could not conceal their extravagant joy. But suddenly a 
discovery was made which changed the emotions of both parties. 
In consequence of a neglect in the customary practice of dropping a 
vote, it was found that Burr would count as high as Jefierson, and 
consequently there being no choice by the people, the election would 
go into the House, where the federalists having the majority, threat- 
ened to elect Burr. 

A more scandalous intrigue, if this were true, was never projected. 
The whole country was paralyzed at the intelligence of it. The par- 
tizans of Jefferson filled even the remotest towns with their clamors 
of indignation, which grew louder and more threatening as the terri- 
ble ballot that ensued in Congress was protracted from day today. This 



480 THE HEKOES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

ballot, by a resolution of both Houses, was to continue without in- 
termission until an election took place. The vote was by states. On 
the first ballot Jefferson had eight, Burr six, and two states were divi- 
ded. Ten were necessary to a choice. The balloting continued for 
eight days without the variation of a vote. The hall of the House, 
during this protracted interval, presented a singular scene. Every 
member was in his place. Those who were sick attended in beds ; 
those who became wearied slept at their desks. Thirty-six ballotings 
had now been taken. Terror and alarm seized on all men's hearts. 
The republic seemed to be at the verge of ruin. It was rumored that 
the federalists intended to prevent an election, choose a Vice-President 
of the Senate, and forcibly hold the government for the next four 
years. If this was attempted, the republicans threatened to rise in 
arms. A meeting was convened at Philadelphia which resolved to 
equip at a moment's notice, march on Washington, and purge the 
House of Representatives. The days of Cromwell seemed about to 
visit us. Every timber of the republic quivered in that awful crisis. 
At last the federalists gave way, and Jefierson was elected- 

It was not until some time afterwards that Burr was accused of 
having tampered with the federalists for the oflice of President. We do 
not believe the charge. Not, however, that we think him incapable 
of the act. He was a man so thoroughly reckless of principle, so 
ready to grasp at any and every means of self-aggrandisement, that 
if he could have believed in the sincerity of the federalists, and been 
certain of their full support in case he made advances, he would have 
promptly come forward and abetted the plot. But Burr knew that 
if he made overtures which proved unsuccessful, he would be ruined 
with both parties : with his own for having betrayed it, with the 
federalists for being their dupe. He therefore stood aloof In ad- 
dition, he had too much good sense not to foresee that, in case he 
was chosen to the Presidency, all his own party, and the most honest 
of the other, in short, nine-tenths of the community, would execrate 
and desert him. In fact, he hesitated. The federalists themselves 
exonerate him from any active agency in the intrigue ; they gave 
up the struggle, they said, only because they found he would do 
nothing for himself. 

But Burr gradually lost the confidence of his party. Jefferson 
ever after mistrusted him. In his own state, the two great families 
which then, as of old in patrician Rome, divided the suffrages of the 
republic, resolved on his ruin. At first the charge of having tam- 
pered with the federalists was vaguely hinted. Then it was repeat- 
ed with statements of time, place and person. Soon the administra- 



AARON BURR. 481 

tion journals took up the accusation : and finally it began to be 
spoken of as a matter placed beyond the reach of cavil. For a long 
time, Burr treated the charge with that contemptuous scorn which 
was one of his characteristics. But finally he found himself forced 
to reply. It was then too late. The public ear had been pre-occu- 
pied ; and to this day the belief in his guilt is almost universal with 
the people. The fact is, his character was found out ; he was 
deemed capable of any baseness ; and he fell from his dizzy eleva- 
tion with a rapidity equal to that of his ascent. 

The duel with Hamilton completed his ruin. As a last throw in 
the political game. Burr had run for Governor of New York, sup- 
ported by a portion of the republican, and the mass of the federal 
party. Hamilton, by lending his influence to the regularly nomi- 
nated democratic candidate, had defeated Burr. The baffled aspirant 
resolved on revenge. Hamilton had expressed, on one occasion, his 
belief that it would be dangerous to confide in the integrity of Burr. 
This was sufficient for that person to fasten a duel on his great rival. 
]5urr, resolving to kill Hamilton, as he afterwards admitted to Jeremy 
l^entham when in England, practiced daily with his pistols for a 
week before the meeting. If this was not premeditated murder we 
know not what is. Hamilton fell at the first fire. 

Instantly a storm of indignation was raised throughout the coun- 
try, such as never before had been heard of; men at once pronounced 
the death of Hamilton a virtual assassination ; all parties went into 
mourning for him ; New York and New Jersey each indicted Burr 
for homicide ; and he who had lately traversed the Union amid the 
acclamations of crowds, now skulked from village to village with a 
price set on his head. He went out like Cain, with the brand of 
God upon him. His slow and noiseless step ; his glittering eye ; the 
ready smile on his inscrutable brow, as they are depicted by the 
men of that generation, conjure forcibly up the image of the in- 
triguer, the traitor, the assassin. 

He was now a desperate man. His term as Vice-President had 
expired, and his party cast him out with loathing and scorn,. His 
fortune was squandered, his business as a lawyer gone. He wan- 
dered for some time over the southern and western states. Ordinary 
men would have yielded, without a further struggle, to fate. But Burr, 
in thevastness of his adventurous mind, now conceived a project whose 
magnitude carries the imagination back to the times when Cortez 
plundered the Montezumas, when Pizarro put an Inca to ransom, 
when cities were sacked by the free rovers of the seas. 

Far away to the south-west, a thousand miles beyond the plains 

61 QQ 



482 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

of Louisiana, lay a vast and wealthy empire, governed by tyrants 
whom the people hated, and defended y troops wliom soldiers 
should despise. For centuries the riches of that kingdom had been 
the theme of travellers. Her mines were inexhaustible, and had 
flooded Europe with gold. Her nobles enjo ed the revenues of 
Emperors. Her capital city was said to blaz wi jewels. It was 
known to look down on the lake into whose waters the unhappy 
Gautamozin had cast the treasures of that long Une of native princes 
of which he was the last. Men dreamed of that magnificent city as 
Aladdin dreamed of his palaces, as Columbus of Cathay. Costly 
statues, vessels of gold and silver, jewels of untold value, troops of 
the fairest Indian girls for slaves, all that the eye delighted in, or the 
heart of man could desire, it was currently declared, would form the 
plunder of Mexico. A bold adventurer, commanding an army of 
Anglo-Saxon soldiers, could possess himself of the empire in less 
than a twelve-month. The times were favorable to the enterprise. 
The priesthood throughout Mexico was disaftected, and would 
gladly lend its aid to any conqueror who secured its privileges ; and 
the priesthood then, as now, exercised a paramount influence over 
the weak and superstitious Mexicans. America, too, was thought 
to be on the eve of a Spanish war, when the contemplated expedi- 
tion might easily be fitted out at New Orleans. Burr saw the glit- 
tering prize and resolved to sieze it. He was an outcast in his 
native country, but he would become the ruler of a prouder land. 
He would conquer this gorgeous realm. He would realize in the 
new world, as Napoleon in the old, a dream of romance. He would 
surround his throne with Dukes and Marshals and Princes of the 
empire. The pomp of chivalry, the splendors of the east should be 
revived in his gorgeous court. And when he had founded this 
empire, and girt his throne with these new Paladins, he would look 
back with scorn on the country which had cast him off. And who 
knew what further conquests he might achieve ? Realms equally 
rich, and even more easy of spoil opened to the south, to whose 
conquest his successors, if not himself might aspire. Perhaps nothing 
would check his victorious banner until he had traversed the conti- 
nent, and stood on that bold and stormy promontory where the con- 
tending waters of the Atlantic and Pacific lash around Cape Horn. 

Such were the dreams of Burr. He proceeded at once to realize 
them. He sounded men in high station, and from many met 
encouragement. Officers of rank eagerly embraced the enterprise; 
politicians of commanding influence united themselves to his party 
The- adventure dazzled young and ardent temperaments. Hundreds 



AARON BURR. 483 

held themselves in readiness to join the expedition as soon as war 
should be declared, and funds were secretly provided in our eastern 
cities to forward this romantic enterprise. In the private papers of 
some of our most distinguished families, rests ample evidence of the 
magnitude and brilliancy of this plot. 

It was at this period that Burr met Blennarhassett, an Irish gen- 
tleman of fortune, who had purchased and settled on an island in 
the Ohio river. This little spot bloomed, under his culture, like the 
enchanted gardens of the Hesperides. Here, surrounded by a lovely 
wife and family, he had passed several years, dividing his time 
between literature and domestic ease. But the fascination of Burr 
soon transmuted the character of his host, until the hitherto quiet 
student was fired with dreams of immortal glory. His mansion 
soon became the rendezvous of the bold spirits whom Burr had 
enlisted in his enterprise ; and the magic of music, united to the 
charms of lovely women, threw a romantic fascination around the 
spot. The coolest minds could not withstand the intoxication of 
that moment. Amid the pauses of the dance, the enthusiastic ad- 
venturers talked of the banners, embroidered by fair hands, under 
which they were to march to conquest ; while the softer sex dis- 
cussed, half jestingly, half earnestly, the gay dresses they were to 
rustle at their future court. But to this bewildering dream there 
came a sudden awakening. An arrangement had been made with 
Spain, and the government, apprized of the enterprise of Burr, sent 
its emissaries to arrest him. He fled, and with him, Blennerhassett. 
From that hour the fairy island became a desert. Desolation soon 
brooded over the hearth-stone which the wife and mother had cheered 
with her smiles. A few months elapsed, and the traveller passing 
that island, heard the long grass whistling in the ruins, and saw the 
wild fox look forth from his hole unscared. 

Burr did not, however, abandon his darling scheme. Deserted by 
nine-tenths of his adherents, he still refused to despair, but collecting 
a small body of men began to descend the Ohio. He had purchased 
a tract of land in Louisiana, where he resolved to form a settlement 
which, in time, might become a depot from which to direct an attack 
on Mexico, if a favorable opportunity should occur. But, as he 
proceeded, the country began to be alarmed. Rumors were in cir- 
culation that he intended to dismember the Union by separating the 
south-western states from the rest of the confederacy. At length 
his progress was stopped by the authorities. He was arrested on a 
charge of high treason, and sent to Virginia for trial, under the 
escort of a party of dragoons. 



484 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

The history of this country affords no parallel to the extraordinary 
reverses of fortune which had befallen Burr ; and the mind can dis- 
cover nothing to which to liken it, except in the events of eastern 
story, where, by the same turn of the wheel, the camel-driver rises 
to a monarch, and the sultan sinks to a slave. But a few years 
before, he had been the popular idol, and filling the second office of 
the nation, living with the splendor and munificence of a prince : 
now the meanest thief who dodged the officers of justice in some 
low alley, would not have bartered situations with him. His adhe- 
rents were scattered to all quarters. Every man thought only of 
saving himself. It was believed that he would be convicted, guilty 
or not guilty : and, as in all popular tumults, pretended informers 
were not wanting. The public did not stop to enquire into his real 
purposes. One universal voice of reprobation rose up from east to 
west, from north to south, crying out for the blood of the traitor who 
had ventured to plot the dismemberment of his country. His few 
remaining friends bent before the fury of the storm. Even his son- 
in-law. Governor Alston, of South Carolina, shrank from his side in 
this crisis. One individual alone clung to him in this hour of trial : 
need we say it was a woman, the only daughter of the accused ? 

If there is a redeeming feature in the character of Burr, it is to be 
found in his love for that child. Prom her earliest years, he had 
educated her with a care to which we look in vain for a parallel 
among his cotemporaries. She grew up, in consequence, no ordi- 
nary woman. Beautiful beyond most of her sex, accomplished as 
few females at that day were accomplished, displaying to her family 
and friends a fervor of affection which not even every woman is 
capable of, the character of Theodosia Burr has long been regarded 
almost as we would regard that of a ho'oine of chivalry. Her love for 
her father partook of the purity of a better world : holy, deep, im- 
changing, it reminds us of the affection which a celestial spirit might 
be supposed to entertain for a parent, cast down from heaven for 
sharing in the sin of the " Son of the Morning." No sooner did she 
hear of her father's arrest than she flew to his side. There is nothing 
in human history more touching than the hurried letters, blotted 
with tears, in which she announced lier daily progress to Richmond, 
for she was too weak to travel with the rapidity of the mail ; and 
even the character of Burr borrows a momentary halo from hers 
when we peruse his replies, in which, forgetting his peril, and relax- 
ing the stern front he assumed towards his enemies, he labors only 
to quiet her fears and inspire her with confidence in his acquittal. 
He even writes from his prison in a tone of gaiety, jestingly regret- 



AARON BURR. 485 

ting that his accommodations for her reception are not more elegant. 
Once, and once only, does he melt ; and then it is to tell her, that, 
in the event of the worst, he will die worthy of himself. 

The trial of Burr was an event that struck every imaginative 
mind. The prisoner had been the Vice-President of the nation. 
His crime was the most flagrant known to the law. His country 
was the accuser. He was arraigned before the supreme tribunal of 
the nation, and the Judge who presided was the highest dignitary 
of that high court. The magnitude of the charges, the number of 
persons involved in the plot, the former high standing and extraordi- 
nary fortunes of the accused, all these combined had fastened the 
attention of the community on his trial : and, as it progressed, the 
nation stood gazing on in breathless suspense. Never before or 
since has this country witnessed such an array of talent in any pub- 
lic cause. There was the Chief Justice, learned, dignified, incor- 
ruptible. There was Wirt, brilliant and showy, but less known to 
fame then, than he was destined afterwards to become. There was 
Martin, quick, keen, armed at all points. There were Hay, Ran- 
dolph, and a host of others, renowned for legal acumen and forensic 
skill. And there, too, was the accused, pre-eminent amid that bright 
array, inferior to none in intellect, superior to all in the magnitude 
of his resources. Never, indeed, did the vast ability of Burr shine 
with more resplendent lustre. He felt the full peril of his situation. 
The stake was life or death. He was arraigned by a powerful foe : 
the executive itself was secretly busy against him : the jury regarded 
him with prejudice. Yet he stood up against this combination of 
dangers cool, ready, stout of heart. He fought every inch of ground 
with a skill and perseverance which resulted in the total rout of his 
foes. Without adducing a witness for the defence, he suffered his 
case to go to the jury, who acquitted him at once. 

But his country still refused to believe him innocent. Though 
stout old Truxton had testified in his favor, though Jackson had 
seen nothing wrong in Burr's project, but agreed to favor it, the 
popular voice continued to regard him as a traitor, whom accident 
alone had prevented from dismembering the Union. But that a 
man of sense and ability should entertain such a notion, relying for 
aid on associates whom he knew would countenance no treason, is 
a preposterous and insane supposition. As he said on his death-bed, 
he might as well have attempted to seize the moon and parcel it out 
among his followers. 

The real secret of the popular belief is to be found in the charac- 
ter of Burr. In him the elements which make great and good men 



4S6 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

were strangely mixed up with those in which we may suppose the 
spirits of evil to pride themselves. He was brave, affable, munificent, 
of indomitable energy, of signal perseverance. In his own person 
he combined two opposite natures. He was studious but insinua- 
ting, dignified yet seductive. Success did not intoxicate, nor reverses 
dismay him. Turning to the other aspect of his character, these 
great qualities sank into insignificance beside his evil ones. He was 
a profligate in morals, public and private. He was selfish, he was 
artful, a master in dissimulation, treacherous, cold-hearted. What 
Sallust said of Catiline might, with equal propriety, be said of him ; 
"cupidus voluptatum glorice cupidior." Subtle, intriguing, full of 
promises, unsparing of means, regardless of consequences, he shot 
upwards in popularity with astonishing velocity ; but, a skeptic in 
honesty, a scorner of all things noble and good, he failed to secure 
the public confidence, and fell headlong from his dizzy eminence. 
Here lies the secret of his ruin ! There was nothing in his character 
to which the great heart of the people could attach itself in love ; 
but they shrank from him in mistrust, as from a cold and glittering 
serpent. 

After his trial Burr went abroad virtually a banished man. He 
was still full of his scheme against the Spanish provinces ; but in 
England he met no encouragement, that nation being engaged in 
the Peninsular war. He afterwards visited France, where his peti- 
tions were equally disregarded, the Emperor being engrossed in the 
continental wars. In Paris his funds failed. He became miserably 
DOor. He had no friends to whom to apply, but was forced to bor- 
row, on one occasion, a couple of sous from a cigar woman at a 
corner of the street. 

At last he returned to New York, but in how different a guise 
from the days of his glory. No cannon thundered at his coming, 
no crowds thronged along the quay. Men gazed suspiciously on 
him as he walked along, or crossed the street to avoid him like one 
having the pestilence. But he was not, he thought, AvhoUy desolate. 
His daughter still lived ; his heart yearned to clasp her again to his 
bosom. She left Charleston accordingly to meet him. But though 
more than thirty years have since elapsed, no tidings of the pilot- 
boat in which she sailed have ever been received. Weeks grew 
into months, and months glided into years ; yet her father and hus- 
band watched in vain for her coming. Whether the vessel perished 
by conflagration, whether it foundered in a gale, or whether it was 
taken by pirates, and all on board murdered, will never be known 
until that great day when the deep shall give up its dead. 



AARON BURR. 



4S7 



It is said this last blow broke the heart of Burr, and that, though 
in public he maintained a proud equanimity, in private tears would 
force themselves down his furrowed cheeks. He lived thirty years 
after this event, .but, in his own words, felt severed from the human 
race. He had neither brother, nor sister, nor child, nor lineal de- 
scendant. No man called him by the endearing title of friend. The 
weight of fourscore years was on his brow. He was racked by 
disease. At last death, so long desired, came, but it found him, it is 
said, in a miserable lodging, and alone. Was there ever such a 
retribution ? 

In the burial place of Princeton College are three graves. Two, 
side by side, are surmounted by marble tablets, recording the virtues 
of those who sleep below, and who died Presidents of that august 
institution. They are the tombs of the father and grandfather of 
Burr. At their feet, and partially between, is a third grave, but 
without headstone, untrimmed, and sunken in. There rests Aaron 
Burr ! 




/ 



I 



'^■':-->. 



